Final Fantasy IV: A Changed World
by Ice on Fire
Summary: A story set some time after the events of Final Fantasy IV. (Complete)
1. Chapter 1: A City of Story

**FINAL FANTASY IV  
****BLOODLINES: A CHANGED WORLD**

_Two knots in weavings of blood, one burning, one absorbing all light, both fated to unseal the third sword. Gates made of nothing swing open; seals weaken at the touch of the moon; eight are surrendered to claim a world. Something black stirs beneath a gilded mask, and another time holds the key._

Asmarla Yulen  
Author, The Book of Mysidia  
Year 557, Regal Era

Stones with the power to shape the world  
_Gathered in halls where flesh and spirit join  
__There to unseal blood older than man  
__And turn away the tides of shade._

Prophecies of the Ralemark Seers  
Year unknown, Peldor Calendar

**Part One: A City of Story**

A single ray of sunlight shone through the pale autumn clouds, bathing the distant hills in a soft glow and breaking the greyness of the early morning. Taurin Eldoom was heartened by the light. The sullen clouds had covered the sky since dawn, and his father had feared it might rain. That would certainly not be helpful; the half-day journey from Bellguard to the city of Peldor was proving wearying enough without having to seek shelter every few hours. Not that the vast, empty Farnost Lowlands offered much in the way of shelter. The field of brown-green grass seemed to run for leagues, its austerity broken only by the occasional hill before it faded into the grey horizon. The thirteen-year-old boy turned back to his father and smiled triumphantly.

"We're going to make it," he announced. "I'm going to get to see Peldor at last!"

Henrik Eldoom had already noticed the break in the horizon. He grinned slightly at his son's enthusiasm. The boy had never been far outside of Bellguard before, and had certainly seen nothing to equal the Silver City. It was partly for Taurin's benefit that he was making this journey. Henrik worked hard as a carpenter, but conditions in Bellguard were poor and the Eldooms could rarely afford to buy anything for their son. Seeing Peldor would be a special treat.

His son certainly seemed excited. He was waving his long arms excitedly, urging Henrik to keep up. Taurin was a fairly tall boy for his age, but was slightly built. His hair was a very rich brown colour, and grew thick all over his head. He kept it cut fairly short, as was the fashion in Bellguard. Henrik was unusual in that he grew his hair long; it was somewhat paler than his son's and fell to just below his shoulders. Taurin's eyes were a deep brown colour, a trait which he shared with both his father and his mother. So far he lacked Henrik's impressive build, but he was considerably stronger than he first appeared and Henrik did not doubt that he would one day grow into a physically capable man. At any rate, he had no trouble walking long distances; Henrik was already struggling to keep up.

"Another mile or so and you should be able to make out its towers. If the weather keeps up, we'll be there this afternoon. Market Day isn't until tomorrow, but I've saved up some money so that we can stay in an inn tonight. No doubt you'll want to see all the places Master Greylin told you about."

Taurin pulled a slight face at his teacher's name, but his father was right. Although he found most aspects of his schooling tedious, Master Greylin not least of all, he always enjoyed hearing about the great cities, and about distant lands. His father had even bought him a history book last time Peldor had a Market Day, two years ago. Taurin had read it eagerly, so many times that its red leather cover was badly worn and the writing on its sleeve could no longer be read. The book was called _Peldor, And What Came Before_, and it talked about the city's thousand-year history, and about the many kings who had claimed authority over the surrounding lands. Of course, no king had ruled in Peldor for three hundred years and Peldor had not been a seat of government in almost a century. The Federation looked after the land now, and Peldor provided only some of its council members. But things had not always been that way; the city had not even always been called Peldor.

The first few chapters in Taurin's book spoke of a time when the land had been called Baron, an age of proud kings and great armies. It told of the collapse of the first house to have held down the throne, and of the coming of the three kings from the House of Harvey: Cecil the Brave, Peldor the Great, and Theolen the Fallen. It then told of what had happened in later days, of the Dusk Wars and the formation of the Circle of Paladins. Details from that ancient time were scarce, because much knowledge had been lost. They were dark days, and they made for exciting reading.

It was Peldor's past that made the city so extraordinary. Master Greylin said that some of the original structures survived, even ten centuries after they were first built. Of course, war and time and natural disaster had ravaged many of the earliest walls and buildings, and new edifices had taken their place; Peldor was a city that had grown up, died and been reborn many times. Taurin cast his mind over the many landmarks and ancient sites that he wanted to see. First on his list was the Hall of Royalty, where the Sword of Legend rested on a dais of marble and beneath whose corridors all the kings were buried, back to the last monarch from the House of Baron. Then there was the Tower of Dawn, where King Ipswen was said to have watched the horizon, awaiting help from the far land of Eblan during the Black Siege. He would have to visit the Queen's Shrine, too, where the life of Rosa the White was commemorated in paintings, murals and statues. And he must also find time to see the Old Castle, Trade Street, the Amphitheatre, Paladin Fortress, the Plaza of the Three Fountains …

Lost in silent reverie, Taurin did not see Peldor draw near. Suddenly awakened from his contemplation, he found himself before its iron gates. A wide, flat bridge of white stone ran for perhaps sixty feet, spanning a moat filled with water from an artificially-diverted river. At its far end lay the open gates, encased in a wall of ancient grey bricks that almost looked silver in the faint light. A busy street lined with cypress trees was vaguely visible beyond the giant gates, cloaked by a pall of mist. Immediately above the gates was set a silver tablet the size of a large table. Etched on the tablet so distinctively that it stood out even from the far end of the bridge was an insignia that Taurin immediately recognised from his book: a sword facing downwards, embedded in a magnificent crown, a crescent moon facing inwards from either side. It was a remnant of Peldor's almost-forgotten past, a reminder of times that would not come again. Taurin could not guess the height of the city walls, but they were of daunting stature; only the needle-thin Tower of Dawn could be seen above them, a spire of silver-white rising from somewhere deep within the city, almost invisible against the grey horizon. Taurin's first sight of Peldor robbed him of breath.

A soldier stood lazily to either side of the mouth of the bridge, adorned in a simple iron helmet and garbed in chain mail that hung over a vest of deep blue leather. Each wore a heavy-seeming cloak of the same deep blue, the standard of the Federation. Taurin could spot a long iron sword at their sides, and a large dagger strapped to their left thigh. Two more soldiers guarded the gates at the far end of the bridge, adorned like their companions but each bearing a heavy black mace. Taurin and Henrik passed without challenge, the young boy casting worried glances at the grim soldiers. Passing slowly through the iron gates, they found themselves within the city.

Taurin found himself almost overwhelmed by the sight that greeted him. A road lay at his feet, made of the same white stone bricks as the bridge. It continued off into the distance, until it disappeared under a silver archway. A wooden signpost marked this Federation Road. Smaller tributaries ran off in every direction, these roads made of grey stone or in some cases cobblestones. Many of them were caught in the shadows of the tall buildings that reared up everywhere, structures of white and grey huddling beneath what was now an iron-grey sky. Perhaps it would rain, after all.

Henrik was whistling to himself as he walked along a few paces behind Taurin. Suddenly he stopped, looking around at the virtual maze of streets branching off in every direction.

"The first thing we want to do is find an inn," he said eventually. "It won't be anything too expensive, but we'll definitely want a roof over our heads tonight. Last time I was here for Market Day I stayed at the Asp's Nest Hotel. I think it was this way."

So they made their way down one side street, then another, eventually ending up in a wide, empty plaza. A gentle downpour had begun, tiny droplets of rain plastering Taurin's dark brown hair to his head and dampening his travelling clothes. The plaza was ringed by tall buildings that must have been centuries old. Some were made of marble and others of white stone. The distant Tower of Dawn was still visible, its uppermost storeys now lit up in sharp relief against the dull sky. Hopefully they would reach the inn soon, so they could leave their travel gear there and start exploring.

"I knew it," his father remarked suddenly. "Just down that street between the two marble buildings. The Asp's Nest."

They continued through the stone-paved plaza dominated by a giant statue of a king from an age long passed. The statue, faded green with age, rose from a shallow pool of water that was overflowing in the rain. Its faded face looked sad, as if burdened by the long, long years it had endured, as if mourning the passing of more familiar days. The figure was seated on a throne that might have once been finely detailed, but had been worn bare by the steady march of uncounted years. One marble hand clasped a giant mace that rested gently against the statue's lap; the other held aloft a sceptre whose intricacies had long since been worn away. Taurin looked into its unseeing eyes, trying to place this character in Peldor's long history.

When Taurin's eyes finally left the statue, a figure was before him, a dark-eyed man garbed in grey and wearing a broad black hat. He was a tall man, but quite fine across the shoulders. His face was distinguished by a sharp nose and a faint black moustache. The man stepped lazily from out behind the statue and stood directly in their path. His mouth was twisted into a sneer. Henrik stopped walking and regarded the newcomer. Taurin stood at his side, the rain falling noiselessly around them.

"Good afternoon," offered Henrik. "How can I help you?"

The dark-clad man's mouth worked itself into a slight smirk. When he spoke, it was in a soft, quiet voice that Taurin had to strain to hear.

"Good afternoon to you, too, sir. I see you are a traveller, which means you probably don't know who I am. Around these parts I am known as the Collector." Taurin could not place the expression that fleeted over the stranger's face. "Not a name of my choosing, but one that has been given to me over time." He paused in mock deliberation, as if choosing his words carefully. Taurin got the impression that this was a routine he had performed many times. "I guess the simplest explanation is that I collect things—valuable things, mostly, but less pricey things if that's all that's on offer. Sometimes I just take gold, if gold's the only thing I can find. But, really, the part that's most important to you is that I collect things from people. And I do whatever it takes to get them."

The strange glint in his dark eyes left Taurin in no doubt as to what the strange man meant by this last statement. He took a step backwards in shock. A look of outrage had come across Henrik's face, and his hands had balled into fists. Seeing his defiance, the Collector smiled grimly.

"We needn't do this the easy way. It's all the same to me."

Before the Collector had even finished speaking, Henrik had launched into action. He was a well-built man, only of medium height but quite stocky. His long brown hair streamed behind him as he rushed towards his opponent. The Collector wasted no time in responding. Henrik had covered perhaps half the twelve paces between them when the grey-garbed man threw one hand into the air.

Taurin could not properly describe what happened next. A cold breeze seemed to roll through the plaza, a chill far more potent than the rain or the cool autumn weather. The air around Henrik turned a pale colour as if it was frozen—and then it _was_ frozen, a rough block of ice that quickly shattered into a million pieces and then disappeared. Henrik Eldoom was caught into the middle of the cataclysm and fell to the ground. From his faint groans, Taurin could tell he was still alive, but he was not sure how badly he was hurt.

The Collector had now turned his attention to the boy. Caught between indecision and terror, Taurin looked helplessly into the other's eyes as he drew near. Taurin was so overwhelmed that he was not aware of his own voice until he heard it reverberating around the empty plaza, a fruitless cry for help. The Collector paused momentarily, smirked, and then resumed his steady march towards the hapless boy.

"Things would have been easier for you—gentler, anyway—if your father had not insisted on making a scene." That soft, almost eloquent voice held a note of feigned disappointment. "All I really care about is treasure—treasure, gold, wealth and my own prosperity. But I make it policy that all who cause me trouble meet an untimely end. It makes future victims a little more … responsive."

The grim man was now only feet away. Suddenly he stopped, his face working itself into a dark scowl. Transfixed by his deadly assailant, Taurin was only vaguely aware of heavy footfalls behind him. He could also hear raised voices.

"Somebody's coming," remarked the Collector quietly, almost to himself. He then looked towards Taurin once again, and the boy was struck by the menace in his black eyes. "Several somebodies, from the sound of things. But don't worry … I'm not the sort of man who likes to have his work interrupted. In fact, I always get the job done. I don't know where you're from, boy, but don't be expecting to return there alive."

With that he was gone, turning quickly and running towards a shadowy street at the far end of the plaza, his long strides upsetting shallow puddles of water as he moved noiselessly through the drizzle. Taurin collapsed to his knees in exhaustion, relief conquering him as adrenaline faded. He had heard of wizards before; the old stories were filled with them. But he had not expected to ever meet one, certainly not one who used his powers for theft and murder. One who was now hunting him, he realised weakly.

Struggling to his feet, he moved over to where Henrik lay, the rain falling around his comatose body. Bending down to check on his father, Taurin felt a presence behind him and saw a shadow fall over his shoulder. He turned around apprehensively, and was relived to see that it was a Peldor guard. Another two guards stood not far away, their grand cloaks quickly becoming drenched in the rain. The soldier behind Taurin looked down at the wounded man and pursed his lips.

"He'll live," he stated flatly. "He's hurt badly and will be unconscious for a few days, but he'll live." He turned to look at Taurin. "You both have backpacks, I see. I guess that means you're from out of town. I'm going to have to take your friend—your father, I suppose? I'm going to have to take your father to the Healing Chambers. But what happened here?"

He listened attentively as Taurin recounted his tale. The soldier wore a worried look on his face when he heard of the Collector's last threat. His face was quite grim apart from his deep blue eyes; they seemed to take in everything Taurin said and consider it gently. His forehead was covered by his iron helmet, but strands of long blond-brown hair poked out through the helmet's base. They were plastered to his face by the rain. A faint scar ran across his cheek, adding a look of deep maturity to a face that appeared almost forty years old. When Taurin finished speaking, the man bowed his head in thought.

"There's been a bad bout of sickness going around Peldor lately. A lot of people aren't well. We'll be able to look after your father, but there's definitely no room for you to wait in the Healing Chambers until he's better. We can't have you walking around the city for four days with nowhere to sleep, though. Especially not with the Collector after you. And the guard houses are no place for visitors." His face lit up slightly. "Here's what I can do for you. There's an innkeeper I know named Hamar Haganti. Kind-hearted man. He maintains the Pirate's Haven, and lets certain city guards stay there for free. Good for us, and good for him too; a little bit of crowd control, if you know what I mean. It should be fairly safe there, and he'll let you rest there for free if you tell him your circumstances. Let him know old Calman sent you. You'll find his inn in the east part of the city, at the end of Heritage Court. Three-storey building with iron railings and a big sign out the front; can't miss it."

He motioned the other two guards forward, and they leant down to lift Henrik from the ground. Calman turned back to the young boy.

"If you want to check up on your father in the next few days, you'll find him in the Healing Chambers. They're in the Old Castle, which won't be hard to find. Don't expect him to be awake for a good four days. It might be even longer before he's ready to travel back home."

His voice became severe as he continued. "Don't forget your plight. You have ended up on the wrong side of a very dangerous man. We have been tracking the Collector for months, and so far he has eluded us. He doesn't give up on a target, either. If you have any sense, you'll stay in your room until your father's recovered. We'll send him your way when he's ready to travel. If you have to go outside, make sure you do so during the day and when the weather's nice—when there are a lot of people about. Don't go off into parts of the city where you're likely to be alone, and don't stray from the main roads if you can help it. We'll walk with you as far as Federation Road, and point you in the right direction from there."

They walked in silence back towards the main road, the rain falling around them in sheets of increasing intensity. The city passed them by as they walked, an endless labyrinth of streets, walkways and overpasses. Light poured from the many windows that remained unshuttered but the streets were almost deserted. The weeping sky stretched above them like a low-hanging grey ceiling. It had darkened considerably since Taurin and Henrik had entered the city. Calman halted upon reaching a plaza paved with blue stones, a vast circle ringed by broken marble arches and in whose centre stood an enormous marble candle atop a marble dais. It rose to about the height of four men, flames leaping almost six feet from its crown, paying no heed to the rain or the wind. The soldier bowed his head towards the candle.

"This is where I leave you, in the shadow of the Torch of Eternity. You want to head down that road on the other side of the plaza, between that mansion and the weapon store. It's called History Street, because it runs past a few museums. When you reach the Hall of Relics, you want to turn right into Cobble Alley. Follow that and you'll end up in the south-east parklands. Somewhere in the park is a hill with a statue of three crowned men on top. You'll probably approach the statues from the south, which is very steep but there's a set of stone steps carved into the hill. It's a much gentler slope on the north side. Continue to the north and you'll see some roads leading back into the city proper. There's one called Endeavour Road. You want that one; take it, and then the first right. You should be in Heritage Court. The Pirate's Haven is at the end of the street. Impossible to miss. Good luck, young man."

Taurin thanked him faintly and headed off towards the far end of the plaza, his head swimming with directions. He cut a lonely figure as he strode through the rain, the Torch of Eternity looming high above him. Leaving the plaza, he walked along a deserted street cradled between tall, dark museums. His hands clasped his father's money pouch, and had he known it, he would have appeared an attractive target for city thieves. But his mind was not on thieves, at least not the everyday sort; he was frantically watching every shadow for some sight of the Collector.

Eventually he reached the House of Relics, identified by a wooden sign that creaked eerily in the wind, and he turned right. Cobble Alley was even more frightening than the street he had just come from. It was narrow and dark and ran past tall spooky-looking houses of black wood that seemed to be abandoned, their empty windows looking out from dusty rooms that gave off no light. Very little rain fell directly on the narrow street, the great bulk of the downpour falling against the building rooves far above. There it gathered and slid down like a small waterfall, drenching Taurin as he moved along. Eventually the dark wooden houses gave way to more modern buildings. The street widened, and the houses were now spaced further apart, letting in the faint light that was visible through the now considerable rainfall. Every so often, another street would cross Cobble Alley as it wound its way back into a busier section of the city. Still it continued onwards, until it left all the buildings behind for rolling hills of soft grass. Then it faded away altogether. A sign marked the beginning of the Haunlett Park. In the far distance Taurin could spy a tall hill crowned with three giant stone statues. Weathered stone steps were carved into its closest slope. Taurin made for the hill, his feet occasionally becoming bogged in the wet earth.

Clambering up the steps, he made his way towards the statues. They looked back at him hauntingly, relics from an age forever gone. Taurin recognised the central statue at once. Although its features were somewhat faded, he had no doubt that this was Peldor the Great, the mightiest king in the city's long history, whose portrait decorated the first page of Taurin's history book and whose name was synonymous with royalty. The statue stood erect, its face forever locked in an expression of silent majesty. It rose slightly taller than either of the others—Taurin would guess it stood about twelve feet to their ten—and its head supported a magnificent crown whose beauty was evident even in stone.

If Taurin had to guess, the statue on the right was most likely Peldor's father Cecil, who retrieved the Sword of Legend from its shrine in a distant land. That statue's face bore a look of quiet determination mingled with gentle pride, preserved four centuries after the statue had been raised and seven hundred and fifty years after Cecil's passing. The statue on the left was probably Theolen, Peldor's only son. Taurin suppressed a shiver as he remembered that name's place in the history books. The statue looked back at him thoughtfully, its stone face an unreadable mask. Remembering his urgent need to avoid the Collector and mindful of the rain, Taurin moved on, down the hill's far slope and towards the end of the parklands.

After a few minutes of walking, he reached Endeavour Road, a wide street brightly lit by many lanterns that shone through the drizzle. Several people were about, wearing thick garments to protect against the rain. Taurin stumbled down the street in relief, glad to be back among human faces. He took the first right, as Calman had instructed him, and found himself in a short street that ended abruptly in front of a five-storey building of rich polished wood. Balconies adorned its upper storeys, each protected from the rain by a small canopy. The street widened considerably in front of its lavish wooden doors. A sign decorated with the bearded face of a man wearing an eye-patch identified this as the Pirate's Haven. With a sigh of relieved exhaustion, Taurin pressed forward, almost collapsing through the tall building's doors.

The room that greeted him was quite spacious and very fancy. A thick red carpet adorned the floor, and tired as he was Taurin felt guilty for dirtying it with his wet shoes. A long wooden bench was immediately before him, behind which stood a solid man who would have been little taller than Taurin himself. A mantelpiece decorated the wall behind the man, holding aloft a selection of very old wine bottles. Sturdy-looking doors of rich dark wood led out from either side of the room and a staircase disappeared upwards, occupying an alcove in the far wall. The centre of the room was dominated by a table surrounded by several chairs of red leather. Taurin could hear voices and laughter through the door to his right. The innkeeper glanced in his direction as he entered.

"How can I help you young sir? You seem a little young to be out and about by yourself. Are you meeting someone?"

Taurin steeled himself before responding. He was quite a shy boy at the best of times, and today's events had left him rattled.

"I … I came to Peldor with my father," he stammered. "A man named the Collector tried to steal from us and my father was hurt. He's being taken care of in the Healing Chambers but one of the guards—Calman—said that you'd be able to look after me until he's better in a few days."

The man's face turned pale when he heard the Collector mentioned, and he was only too willing to help.

"By all means, we have several spare rooms so it won't be a problem. Calman is an old friend of mine, and I owe him a few favours from here and there." He extended a hand, which Taurin shook awkwardly. "Name's Hamar. Hamar Haganti. Been the proprietor of the Pirate's Haven for just over eight years. Served some time in the military before that, and went off on a few escapades of my own. What did you say your name was, again, young sir?"

Taurin examined the strange man. He had already noted his below-average height and above-average girth. He had a thick brown moustache flecked with grey, and what little hair remained was of the same colour. His eyes were also dark, hidden beneath bushy brown eyebrows. He looked to be in his late forties.

"Taurin. My name's Taurin."

"Well, Taurin, I'll take you right up to your room." He fumbled around for a key. "You'll be room twenty, which is two floors above us. Everyone gathers downstairs for breakfast in the morning—and for dinner too, of course. That's only a few hours away now. As you can probably hear, lots of folks spend their day drinking, but I don't think that will be you, somehow. We don't do lunch, so you'll have to make your own arrangements there. Follow me."

Taurin found himself led up two flights of stairs to emerge in a narrow hallway lit by a small chandelier. The closest door had the number twenty engraved on a brass plate. Hamar unlocked the door, revealing a small room containing a bed, a chest at the foot of the bed, and a lantern atop a small nightstand. A solitary straight-backed chair rested in one of the corners. The curtains were pulled back and the window unshuttered, giving Taurin a view of a wet street and a gloomy skyline. It seemed he had found shelter just before the rain intensified further; it was now falling down in fierce sheets. A small plank of wood immediately above the window's exterior shielded the room from the downpour, but did nothing to ease the bite of the wind. Shivering slightly, Taurin silently noted that he would have to shutter the window. Apparently his room did not open on to one of the balconies he had seen from outside.

"A fairly simple room, I'm afraid," remarked Hamar. "But we've got to keep the larger ones for paying customers. It should be suitable enough, anyway. Drop down to see me if I can help you with anything." Taurin was in no state to be finding fault with the room's size or level of comfort. After the day he had endured, the bed might as well have been fit for an emperor. Hamar left, shutting the door behind him after handing Taurin the key, leaving the boy alone in his room. Taurin was tempted to lie down and drift off to sleep immediately, but his stomach was growling at him fiercely. It wanted to be fed! Reluctantly avoiding the bed, Taurin sat down on the wooden chair and looked out the window, letting the chill wind course over his body, invigorating him and keeping him alert. It was difficult to tell through the clouds and rain, but the boy guessed that evening was drawing near. _I've certainly had a full day_, he thought, the reality of everything that had happened slowly sinking in.

Struggling to control his fear, he forced himself to think over the Collector's departing promise. Perhaps it was just an idle threat meant to cause him fear, but Taurin was unsure. It certainly seemed odd that a man would value his pride so highly that he would hunt someone whose only crime was to escape him, but who could understand the mind of a rogue? Feeling weariness wash over him, Taurin struggled desperately to keep his eyes open. It was no good, and he felt himself drifting off to sleep. Deciding that food would have to wait until the morning, he carefully shuttered the windows and then lay down on his bed. He was asleep within moments of putting his head on the pillow.


	2. Chapter 2: Market Day

**Part Two: Market Day**

Morning found the rains gone and the sun adorning a skyline only faintly touched by cloud. Yesterday's fears seemed distant indeed as Taurin rose from his slumber and unshuttered the windows. Today was Market Day! The entire city of Peldor would come alive today as visitors from the surrounding lands came to celebrate. After a quick but very filling meal in the downstairs tavern he went to see Hamar. The innkeeper seemed to be in a very good mood.

"Off to experience Market Day, are you? Remember to be careful, but it's not really the Collector's way to strike when there are lots of people about. He's the sort who prefers to target people when they are all alone, late at night or in a deserted part of the city. I don't think there'll be a single empty street today, not with the treats we have lined up. They even say … They say that Victen Armos will be here!"

That was certainly big news. Victen Armos was regarded far and wide as the greatest swordsman alive. Some said he was the best in more than two centuries. Even in Bellguard his name was fabled. Among other things, he was the only male to have served as chief of the Toroian royal guards, the elite force that had always been commanded by a female since its formation four hundred years ago, and the youngest man to have ever won the World Swordsman Contest. He had won that prestigious contest eight years ago, when he was seventeen. His ability and his legend had increased considerably since then. People said he had never lost a swordfight. Taurin's face must have given away something of his delight, because Hamar smiled triumphantly.

"They've done up the old Fighting Pit for his grand match in Peldor. It's a special show, free for anyone who wants to watch. You'll get to see all of his trademark techniques … The Whirlwind Turn! Rolling Thunder! The Sidethrust!" His voice fell almost to a whisper. "You might even get to see the legendary Crimson Juggernaut! And that's just part of the festivities. I'll be getting someone to fill in for me a bit later; I want to be out there celebrating, myself!"

Taurin left the Pirate's Haven in a hurry, eager to behold everything Market Day had to offer. In the bright morning light, his fears seemed ill-founded and quite nonsensical. Clearly the Collector, whoever he was, would have better things to do with his time than track down a stray boy who had done nothing to harm him. There were many people in Peldor that he would be busy robbing, and the city was so vast that if he sighted Taurin ever again it would be the purest luck. If Taurin was in danger at all, that danger would more likely come from common street thieves.

The young boy wondered briefly how his father was faring. Calman had said that Henrik would recover, but that he would be wounded for several days. If Taurin found himself near the Old Castle, he would visit the Chambers of Healing to see his father; otherwise it could just as easily wait until tomorrow. Market Day would be very busy for the boy from Bellguard even without making a special journey to the Old Castle. Taurin was very eager to check on his father's progress, but a day like today was very rare.

Market Day came only every second year. It had eventually grown into a festival that saw travellers from surrounding lands descend on Peldor for a day of trade and merriment, but it had its origins in the fact that voting took place on the same day. Master Greylin had explained the tradition to Taurin's class many times. Peldor sent two councillors to the High Council in Mysidia. Each councillor served for four years, with one councillor's term ending halfway through the other's term. The High Council was the governing body of the Federation, a circle of nine men and women who administered the lands surrounding the great cities of Mysidia, Peldor, Havent and Endor-Eblan. Because voting took place in the cities, people who made their home in the surrounding towns and farms would visit the closest city to vote. Sometimes the journey could be very long, so the travellers would remain for several days, filling the inns and crowding out the marketplaces. Over time the day's significance in terms of trade increased even as times became less turbulent and fewer and fewer people bothered to vote. These days many people failed to realise that they could indeed vote on Market Day, a trend that Master Greylin lamented.

Taurin gave a start. Lost in thought about his stern teacher, he had suddenly realised that the man immediately in front of him looked remarkably like the object of his musings. The boy had travelled down several busy streets and had reached a plaza crammed with hawkers and tables of goods, not to mention customers. The man's back was to Taurin, but his slightly stooped posture was identical to the bearing mimicked by so many students in Bellguard. His slight build was the same as Greylin's, as was his pale complexion, as was his thinning grey-brown hair that hung down almost to his shoulders is a mess of strands and curls. Even his weathered brown robes were reminiscent of the type Greylin liked to wear.

The man, who had been examining a table of dusty-looking books, turned around, and Taurin was left with no doubt. This man _was_ Greylin. The middle-aged teacher who had seemingly dedicated his entire life to the study of history and lore to the sacrifice of everything else was here in Peldor—the remote, quiet man who had come to Bellguard almost ten years ago and remained a mystery to everyone. True to form, Greylin's face was worked into an expressionless mask, his deep brown eyes—eyes that seemed to bear the weight of all of history's tragedies and to have experienced the passing of long years far greater than Greylin's age—quickly spotting Taurin. He ambled towards his student.

"Taurin, I see you also have come to Peldor." The even, familiar voice greeted Taurin with a tone that conveyed happiness but no excitement. Sometimes it seemed that Greylin was incapable of excitement.

Forcing himself to smile, Taurin shook his teacher's hand. "I've come here with my father. We're here for Market Day." There was no need to tell Greylin any more than that; it wasn't as if the quiet scholar held any interest in other people's lives.

"Ah yes, for Market Day. Your father has always travelled here to vote, even if many people no longer see the point." His eyes narrowed slightly, a rare glimpse into the teacher's mind. "This year it could prove more important than anyone realises."

"You'd be here to vote then?" Taurin meant it as a question, but he was quite sure of the answer.

"Of course. But there are some books I'd like to buy as well, if I can find them in the right condition and at the right price." It was all Taurin could do to stop himself from grimacing. Greylin had come to Market Day and his only concerns were voting and books. Perhaps all adults became dull one day, but nobody else in Bellguard was quite as uninspired as old Master Greylin; the other grown-ups in Bellguard remained interested in weapons and ale and gossip. Greylin was only interested in history. He even managed to make that as boring a hobby as he possibly could. To him, the ancient wars were "unfortunate" and the tragedies that gave history its colour were "unnecessary".

"I hope you find some of your books for a good price," Taurin managed after a few moments. "I'd like to buy some things, too, if I can find the money. Good luck."

Greylin bowed slightly before turning back to the outdoor book stall. "Good luck, Taurin."

Leaving the middle-aged teacher behind, Taurin cast his eyes over the plaza in front of him. It was filled with stalls and hawkers of every description, from fruit merchants to weapon traders to artists. The young boy must have spent an hour or more just looking at the wares on offer, and was only brought out of his trance by the sharp voice of a passing woman addressing her children.

"No, stay close to me! On the other side of this market is the Fighting Pit. If you don't stop looking at all those stalls, we won't make it in time to see Victen Armos fight."

The name of the legendary swordsman was all it took to bring Taurin to his senses. Almost dropping the dagger he had been examining, he fell in behind the mother and her three children and made his way through the crowded plaza. Travelling down one paved street and then another, he found himself before a broken marble archway that led to a large arena ringed by circles of seats, each one positioned slightly higher than the one in front, so that the seats at the higher levels looked down on the arena as if from atop a hill. The bottom row of seats was elevated about twelve feet above the pit, looming over it from atop a steep stone wall.

Taurin found a spare seat amid the already teeming crowds and sat down. He was at the end of a row, next to one of the aisles that ran past all the rows of seats down to the fighting floor. On his other side sat a dark-haired girl garbed in purple silks that looked as if they must have been expensive, but were torn and stained with dirt. Turning his attention away from the crowds, Taurin surveyed the arena below. He was almost halfway between the pit edge and the top row of seats, and directly faced a pair of iron gates fixed into the steep wall that ringed the hollow. It was as good a seat as he could have hoped for, and gave him a very good view of the spectacle that was about to occur.

The Fighting Pit was one of two structures in Peldor that could serve as arenas. It was the older of the two by almost two centuries, but was by no means the greater. The other was the magnificent Royal Stadium, but it was no longer called by that name; it was now known as the Eternal Memorial, a giant edifice of marble and silver that stood fairly close to the Old Castle. The Royal Stadium had taken almost three score of years to complete, and had only ever housed one duel. To this day it was kept in perfect condition, maintained lovingly while ancient buildings tumbled around it and antique monuments faded away and were lost. But its grounds now housed a beautiful garden, focused around a single block of white marble bearing the words: _Here fell Peldor Harvey, Bringer of Light, Wisest of Kings, Lord of Men. 546 RE to 31 PC_. It would never witness another duel again.

Time stretched on, and the Fighting Pit was soon completely full. Suddenly the ceaseless chatter died away and an expectant hush filled the air. A man in flowing crimson robes was standing in the middle of the pit, his tanned face decorated with a pointed black beard. He waited until the crowd was completely silent and then spoke in a quiet voice that somehow carried to the farthest rows of onlookers.

"Welcome everyone. My name is Shek Armold, the Federation's Representative in Peldor. For those of you who have never been here before, welcome to our fine city." He paused briefly as several spontaneous cheers erupted from the crowd. "Today is a very special day for all of you, and for Peldor. Today you are all going to witness the immortal Victen Armos compete in combat." The last couple of words were almost lost in an outburst of applause that lasted for more than a minute. Eventually it died down, and Shek Armold continued. "You all know that Victen Armos is undefeated. Nobody has ever bested him with a sword. That could change today."

He had to pause again as several overly enthusiastic onlookers jeered him. Smiling slightly, he continued. "Today Victen Armos will face six of Peldor's finest soldiers in a match to be conducted with wooden practice swords. If any contestant is touched by a sword—that is, if any part of their body whatsoever comes into contact with a sword—they are eliminated and must leave the pit at once. The soldiers of Peldor will act together as a team, focusing their energy only on Victen Armos." Again several jeers cut through the air, but most of the audience was listening intently. "The battle will continue until all six soldiers are eliminated or Victen Armos is struck by a sword." He bowed slightly. "Remember to vote today so that we keep a friendly voice on the High Council for when my job comes up for renewal next year, and enjoy the rest of today's festivities. The battle will begin very soon."

Then he was gone, the iron gates clanging shut behind him. The crowd began muttering restlessly, several shouting for Victen Armos. The girl beside Taurin was leaning forward intently. After what seemed like forever, the gates opened slowly once again. Taurin found himself on his feet along with the rest of the crowd. He was slightly disappointed when he saw half a dozen soldiers wearing the Federation's uniform enter and take their positions throughout the pit. Many people around him were shouting derogatory comments at the six soldiers, but most were simply waiting in eager silence, their eyes fixed on the open gateway.

Then it happened. Wave upon wave of applause burst from the crowds as a tall man in red leather armour strode through the gates and into the arena. At first Taurin thought his hair was brown, but as it caught the sunlight he realised it was actually orange. Fierce blue eyes looked out from a lean face, clean-shaven and unmarked by any scars. Victen Armos was quite broad across the shoulders, but otherwise of smaller frame than Taurin would have suspected. He strode unchallenged around the pit for several minutes, waving to the crowds and soaking in the awesome reception. Then the iron gates shut with a clang. Victen slowly drew a wooden sword from his sheath and turned to face the Federation's soldiers.

They were on him instantly, six powerful blue-garbed figures bearing down on him from all directions. Their onslaught was so sudden that Taurin feared the legendary warrior would disappear in their first rush. He simply stood there, his head cocked to one side as they approached. They were almost upon him when he threw himself to the ground. Curling himself into a ball and casting himself forward, he disappeared through their ranks. His sword dashed up swiftly, striking one soldier straight in the chest. With a short gasp, the soldier fell to his knees. The crowd cheered heartily. "Rolling Thunder!" exclaimed the dark-haired girl next to Taurin, evidently familiar with Victen's distinctive techniques.

Five soldiers remained. They quickly recovered and charged towards Victen. His sword flew from one soldier to the next, parrying their skilled thrusts with undisguised ease. Then Taurin let out a gasp. One soldier stood right behind Victen, and was preparing to strike. Suddenly Victen spun around, his sword-arm held out stiffly. The wooden blade struck his opponent's exposed neck with a terrible impact, sending the soldier sprawling. "Whirlwind Turn!" came the exclamation from the dark-haired girl as the crowd rose to its feet cheering.

The four soldiers that were left fell back uneasily, regarding the legendary warrior with apprehension. Before they could recover, Victen was amid their ranks, launching thrusts in every direction. One soldier took an ambitious lunge at the red-armoured warrior. Victen vaulted backwards before the blow could connect; the soldier's sword struck one of his companions full in the chest.

And then there were three. They spread out in different directions, determined not to meet the same fate as the Toroian legend's last victim. Victen bounded towards one of the remaining soldiers, his wooden sword meeting his opponent's in a swift and uncompromising exchange. Suddenly he had disappeared behind his opponent, moving as the soldier attempted to parry a blow that never came. Victen's sword came hard to his back, and the soldier was eliminated. "Shadowstrike!" The girl beside Taurin spoke with a tone that approached awe.

The crowd was cheering relentlessly as Victen examined his last two opponents. Taurin was almost surprised to find himself among the most vocal. One of the soldiers launched himself at Victen, his blade bearing down in a menacing arc. Victen quickly sidestepped, and swung his sword upwards between the soldier's legs. The cheering was slightly less uniform this time, as many people in the audience winced in pain. "Silent Devastation!" shouted the girl triumphantly. The soldier crumpled to the ground, utterly beaten.

For long moments, Victen and the final soldier regarded each other forebodingly, the onlookers silent as they awaited one or the other to break the stalemate. Gasps suddenly went up through the crowd. Victen had not moved, but there was unmistakably a smile on his face. "I don't believe it," the girl whispered to nobody in particular. "I'm going to see the Crimson Juggernaut." The Federation soldier apparently knew what was coming, too. His face had gone deathly white and even from the distance it was evident that his sword-arm was shaking.

Victen moved forward and met his last opponent. He struck first to the left and then to the right, and the soldier blocked both blows. The warrior in red armour struck in either direction again, but this time his blows were more exaggerated, and his adversary took longer to meet the thrust from the right. The next attacks saw Victen jump to the left, thrust, and then jump back to the right and launch another attack. The pattern continued for a short time, the soldier's parries becoming more desperate each time. When he almost fumbled a particularly powerful blow from the left, Victen came at him again, this time from the centre rather than the right.

The crowd was totally silent now. Most of them knew what was coming, and the rest quickly guessed that it was something remarkable. This was the most devastating move in Victen's arsenal. It was called the Crimson Juggernaut, and no enemy had ever blocked it. It happened so quickly that Taurin could barely register what was happening. One moment Victen stood before his opponent, sword held in its normal position. Then he had leaped backwards slightly, his weapon held above his head like a war hammer. Before Victen's final opponent could fully recover from the last thrust to the left, the fabled warrior had leaped forward again, the sword coming down like a meteor. The soldier's frantic attempt to block it failed miserably. Sometimes Victen's opponents managed to bring their weapons back in time to meet his blade, but never with enough force to stop the onslaught; this time, this challenger did not even come close. The sword tore downwards along his face and chest with the force of a thunderbolt, ending the battle with a finality that appeased even the most drama-hungry onlookers. The soldier collapsed like a tower that just imploded, and Victen was left standing above his bloodied, comatose body, the Toroian's wooden sword held aloft in triumph.

The crowd was silent for several moments as it contemplated what had just happened. Then, all at once, a deafening applause began, loud beyond anything Taurin had ever heard. It seemed to last forever, continuing while Victen walked around the pit, waving to the crowd and smiling in triumph. He held his blood-streaked sword high in the air one last time, and then disappeared through the now-open gateway. The applause continued for a good while longer, eventually dying away to be replaced with a sombre silence as the onlookers considered the spectacle they had witnessed, realising that they had beheld the handiwork of a legend.

All at once, the crowd began to disperse, people leaving the Fighting Pit to experience Market Day's other attractions. Several remained, their eyes still focused dreamily on the arena floor. Among them was the dark-haired girl in worn purple silks. Her voice brought Taurin out of his own reverie.

"Was that the first time you saw Victen Armos fight?" Her voice was surprisingly soft for someone dressed so shabbily. Caught by surprise, he turned to face her.

"That's right. I've never been to Peldor before. My name's Taurin Eldoom. I'm from Bellguard."

She looked back at him, her soft brown eyes containing a hint of scepticism. "Where's Bellguard. I don't think I've ever heard of it. By the way, my name's Ravena. I'm from the town of Katheton." She smiled slightly, a flash of white teeth that contrasted against her tanned face and dark red lips.

Taurin would have guessed the girl to be about his age. If her brown hair had been any darker, it would have been black. It hung messily down her back, almost to her waist. Parts of it were tangled badly. If it weren't for her messy appearance, Taurin supposed that she would have been quite pretty.

"It's about half a day's journey away, on the Farnost Lowlands. Not many people have heard of it; it's a small village."

"I suppose you're here for Market Day." It was a statement rather than a question. Taurin nodded in response.

"My father and I came here so that he could vote and I could see Peldor. He's gone off somewhere for a little while and left me by myself." That seemed to satisfy her, because she did not pursue the matter any further. For some reason he could not explain, Taurin felt he could trust this strange girl, but there was no reason to mention the Collector just yet. "What about you?"

She gestured casually at her torn clothing. "I ran away." He looked at her incredulously.

"You ran away from home?"

Ravena nodded solemnly. "That's right. I came here to get away from my hometown. There were problems in Katheton, and I got sick of them." Taurin's surprise must have shown, because she let off a slight laugh. "Don't worry. I've been away from home for over two weeks now—I've lost count of the actual number of days—and I've been able to look after myself so far."

"How old are you, anyway?"

"Fourteen," Ravena responded casually. "What about you?"

"I'm thirteen, but I don't know if I'd be able to survive on the streets for a fortnight." He shivered involuntarily, the thought of the Collector stalking him through Peldor for two weeks cutting momentarily through the noonday light.

Ravena simply shrugged. "You've never had to try. Where are you headed to now, anyway?"

"I don't know," Taurin replied truthfully. "I was hoping to see some of the old landmarks, but I don't know where to start."

Ravena smiled disarmingly, her white teeth a brief flash of light. "What you need is a guide. I know Peldor almost as well as anyone, and can take you wherever you need to go. Does that sound good to you?"

Taurin nodded vigorously. "It would be a big help. Where should we go first?"

"We'll visit the heart of Peldor's history." She paused dramatically. "The Hall of Royalty."

The Hall of Royalty was a mammoth building of bronzed stone, its massive golden-brown doors thrown open to reveal a dimly lit hallway. Ascending a flight of stairs that was very wide at its base but narrowed as it approached the giant doors, Taurin and Ravena found themselves inside. A long corridor stretched away before them, its floor paved with a thick red carpet, its ceiling vaulted high above. Several sentries stood at the far end of the room, their boredom visible in their glazed eyes. Apart from the sentries, the two children were alone. The hallway had an ancient feel to it, though in truth the current structure was a much more recent building than many others. Yet it seemed that the Hall of Royalty bore the full weight of Peldor's one thousand years of history.

Ravena led him to the far end of the corridor. They passed through a pair of elaborate doors and found themselves in a small room dominated by a crystal chandelier. An impressive door stood on the other side of the room, set atop four small steps. It was divided into four giant panels, each of which revealed a scene from Peldor's distant past. Two slightly less intricate doors were also visible, one to their left, the other to their right.

"Well," Ravena announced, gesturing to the far door, "in that room you will find the Sword of Legend. Some people say it is the most valuable relic in all of Peldor—even in the all the Federation." She shrugged. "I don't know about that, though. Even if it's as powerful as they say, it's useless to anyone nowadays; it's embedded firmly in a block of marble. If we go left we'll reach a flight of stairs going down to the royal tombs. Not really my sort of thing, but you might enjoy it. But you have to pay to look around. To the right we have a series of rooms with a lot of paintings and artefacts showing the history of Peldor's kings, from Oldar Baron all the way to the final king Remingtar Stalvenos. Where do you want to go?"

Without hesitation, Taurin made his way through the far door and into the house of the Sword of Legend. The room that greeted him made his jaw drop. The room was shaped like a circle, its walls dominated by several marble arches that disappeared into the ceiling far above. In the centre of the room a circular dais held aloft a small white shrine. The shrine housed a block of white marble adorned by the same design of a sword embedded in a crown, flanked by moons that Taurin had seen at the city gates, this one etched in a faint silver colour. From the marble rose the most fabulous weapon Taurin had ever seen.

Its hilt made of sparkling silver and wrapped with red leather that had endured the ages without damage, the Sword of Legend glowed like a beacon in the night. An elaborate silver crossbar flowed into a narrow hand guard that joined to the sword's pommel. In its centre was etched a pair of wings, light seeming to flow from the curious design. But it was the blade that caught Taurin's attention first. It ran from the crossbar into the block of marble, its edges parallel lines without flaw. The blade burned with a radiance that it could not disguise, its magnificent light forcing Taurin to look away. This was the sword of kings, the weapon that Cecil and Peldor had brought to bear against the forces of evil. This was the blade of Paladins.

"It's brilliant, isn't it?" Ravena's voice came from behind him, taking Taurin's attention away from the sparkling blade.

"I've never seen anything like it." That was the simple truth. Nor would he again, he thought. Here was a weapon that seemed to come not just from another age, but from another world.

They spent several minutes staring in awe at the Sword of Legend, their eyes drinking in its brilliance, their minds transported to a time long gone. Finally, Ravena turned and disappeared. After several more moments spent gazing longingly at the sword, Taurin followed her.

They now went through the door to the right, and in the rooms that followed, Taurin immersed himself in Peldor's proud and dark history. Murals told of the birth of Oldar Baron in a nameless village by a great river, of his journey through the wilderness as a child, and his coming to the lands that would one day bear his name. Paintings depicted his desperate attempt to rally the surrounding towns to repel an invasion from across the ocean, his prowess in the war that followed, and his rise to the throne.

In faded sketches, Taurin saw the kingdom of Baron discover technologies now lost forever and build a fleet of flying ships to conquer neighbouring lands. The war of the four kingdoms rolled by in series of tapestries, and before Taurin knew it he was witnessing Cecil the Brave draw forth the Sword of Legend and travel to the moon to conquer an evil that predated the world of men.

Then he was looking back on the life of Peldor the Great, his desperate war alongside the Warriors of Kain against the invaders from the Underworld, his mighty deeds as he fought against the Seven Crimson Mages, his daring rescue of the beautiful Alena Rasslehelm and their subsequent marriage, his efforts to construct a system of roads and border forts, his role in building great cities throughout his realm, his journey to Mysidia to preserve the power of the Crystals of Light, his actions to seal away the black arts, his death at the hands of his own son. Taurin shivered as he saw Theolen the Fallen study the forbidden arts of black magic, building up an arsenal of spells the like of which had not been seen since the foundation of Mysidia and the end of the Shadow Years. He tensed as he watched him overcome Peldor in single combat as the whole city looked on from the seating of the Royal Stadium. He bore witness to Theolen's inability to wield the Sword of Legend, and his journey to Mount Ordeals to unlock its power. He lamented the end of the Harvey line as Theolen—unable to conquer his dark past—was torn apart by the spirits that inhabited the shrine atop Mount Ordeals, his ashes scattered in the wind.

And so the House of Eldan began its time on the throne of Baron, now called Peldor. But the next painting told of the Black Siege, the return of the armies of monsters thought forever defeated in the time of Cecil and Peldor. Eventually aid came from Eblan and the siege was broken, but not before the gates of the city were thrown down and King Ipswen seized by the invading armies. The quiet ages that followed—depicted in peaceful tapestries of soft colours—saw Peldor withdraw from the affairs of surrounding lands, and lose contact with the goings-on in the wider world. The Argorlans ruled in that time, quiet but diligent men well suited to those happy years. Eventually their line faded, and Karlen Janlor came to the throne.

A man well-versed in the lore of foreign kingdoms, he could sense the changing nature of the world around him. Disturbed by the rise of warlike kings in the neighbouring lands, he began an unpopular but effective campaign to bolster Peldor's armies and to repair its crumbling and abandoned border forts. It was left to his great-grandson Gard to face war when it eventually came. The Dusk Wars saw battle on every front, and the paintings that depicted it were sombre indeed. Several times throughout the decades of battle that followed, enemy soldiers marched through Peldor's streets, sometimes making it as far as the walls of the Old Castle. Gard became ill during the long wars and passed away, leaving the remains of the kingdom to his nephew Armant. Armant fell in battle, repelling an assault that threatened to swallow the entire city.

Remingtar Stalvenos came to the throne next, the last king that Peldor would ever produce. His statue stood in the final room, a proud man with his head held high. Murals depicted his valiant defence of the city, and his formation of the Circle of Paladins—an order of men both wise in lore and skilled in the art of swordplay. They founded themselves on the principles espoused by Cecil and Peldor long centuries ago, striving to recapture something of the glory of Peldor's distant past. The Circle numbered thirteen, including Remingtar, and became the body of government during those dark days. Long years of war saw the invading armies driven back beyond Peldor's old borders and vanquished.

After the war, Remingtar decided that the age of monarchies was over, at least as far as Peldor was concerned. He decreed that the Circle of Paladins should continue to rule the city and the surrounding lands, but that each paladin must vacate his position upon reaching the age of seventy; the people of the great city would then choose a successor. Later this was widened to include all people throughout the realm, and the Circle of Paladins eventually gave way to a government of mayors and officials—and after almost two hundred years without a monarch, Peldor sent representatives to Mysidia to engage in the discussions that would lead to the founding of the Federation. But the final painting in the Hall of Royalty showed Remingtar Stalvenos pictured against a golden sunset, the royal crown clasped in one hand as he declared the age of kings at an end.

Taurin let out a sigh of exhaustion, the first seven hundred years of Peldor's history having passed before his eyes in an hour that felt like an age of the world. Yawning slightly, he turned towards Ravena who was still reading the plaque beneath the last painting.

"It really brings home how old this city is."

The dark-haired girl nodded. "Even the last part of the story happened three hundred years ago. And it's been more than a thousand years since Oldar Baron first came to this land. It makes for a lot of history."

As weary as the long history of Peldor's kings left him, Taurin was eager to see more of the ancient city. "Where should we go now?"

A faint smile crossed Ravena's face. "Give me a moment to recover, okay? I've had enough history for one day, but there are plenty of other things we can see. Lots of old fountains and statues, a few nice parks, even some pretty roads. I'll show you around the city."

As unappealing as Taurin found the thought of pretty roads, he had to admit that he was better off following Ravena than finding his way around Peldor alone. So the two children explored the city for the next few hours, one experiencing its landmarks and passageways for the first time, the other passing along streets her feet had traversed many times. There was far more to see than they could fit into one day, but they tried their best. As afternoon faded and evening crept in, Ravena decided it was time for Taurin to go home, and began heading for the Pirate's Nest. That disappointed him, because he enjoyed the girl's company. Back at the inn he would be by himself, and he would be bored.

"Will you still be here tomorrow," Ravena asked suddenly.

Taurin nodded. "I'm in Peldor for a few days."

The girl looked well pleased. "Terrific. If you don't have anything to do, we can probably look around the city some more? All the shops will be closed tomorrow, and the museums will, too. But there still should be plenty to see."

"Sure, where will we meet up? I'll need to go to the Old Castle tomorrow, for a little while, but it shouldn't take too much time out of the day."

She pursed her lips slightly. "Easiest place to meet might be Haunlett Park. There's a stone bench just a little way away from the Three Kings. Wait there after breakfast, and I'll find you."

With that she bid him farewell, because the inn was now in sight. As he watched her recede into the distance, Taurin finally turned and headed inside, to await dinner and then head upstairs for much-needed sleep.


	3. Chapter 3: Tracking a Thief

**Part Three: Tracking a Thief**

He was awoken early the next morning by a strange tapping against the outside wall. Moaning slightly, he arose from his sleep. Everything was still dark, and a cold breeze blew into the room in spite of the shutters. The tapping continued, a gentle but persistent pattering against the wall. Taurin relaxed when he realised what it was; rain had once more settled over Peldor. Pulling the blanket snugly around himself, he drifted into a light sleep.

It was only when he awoke again a couple of hours later that he fully realised what the rain meant. Undoing the shutters, he cast his eyes out over an iron-grey horizon and muttered in annoyance. The damp weather looked as though it had settled in and would continue for a long time. Rain pelted down on the city in steady sheets, and the Tower of Dawn was veiled in grey cloud. He and Ravena would find very little to see today—if she turned up at all. The wind howled softly, mocking him. Grimacing to himself, he shut the window and headed down for breakfast.

Finishing the meal, he reached his decision. He would have to visit the Chambers of Healing in the Old Castle today to check on his father's condition. He was going to get very wet, if he could even find the building without Ravena's help, let alone find his way back. He had little to lose by waiting for her out in the rain. After bidding Hamar a good morning, he headed outside into the rain.

The downpour was even worse than it had appeared from his window. By the time Taurin made it to the edge of the park, he felt wet all the way through to his bones. His clothes were drenched, and his boots were filled with water. Looking miserably out across the park, he headed towards the trio of statues. From atop the hill, he scanned the nearby area for a stone bench. He soon spotted it, out in the open with no nearby trees for cover. It was with a weary groan that he headed towards it.

For perhaps half an hour he waited there, enduring the rains and winds, and scouring the horizon for any sign of Ravena. None came. Reluctantly, he moved away from the bench and headed back towards the city streets. Then a small shout caught his attention.

Turning around, he saw Ravena heading towards him through the rain, her hair plastered to her face, her purple silk clothes saturated. "Thought you could get away from me that easily?" she challenged him, laughing. "I've come, like I told you I would. Let's get out of the rain."

Suiting her own words, she walked hurriedly towards a dirt path lined on either side by broad trees that offered at least some protection. Taurin jogged after her. "Is there anything worth seeing in this weather?" he asked her, moving underneath what would have to pass as cover. "We're already soaked."

Her deep brown eyes flickered mischievously. "There's always something to see in Peldor. It doesn't matter what the weather's like. I thought I'd show you the place I've been staying since I left home. Does that sound like a good start?"

Nodding dumbly, he followed her along the faint trail, which eventually left the park and became a cobblestone street. They moved through the city slowly, finding cover where they could, and running through the open places as quickly as they could manage. Eventually they reached a crumbling stone wall coated with ivy. It formed part of an old building that appeared to be long abandoned. Smiling devilishly, Ravena drew apart the wall of ivy, revealing a hole in the wall that led into darkness. Flicking the rain out of her hair, she stepped through the portal. Taurin followed her gingerly.

The room he found himself in was dark, musty and small—but at the same time it was surprisingly warm and unexpectedly hospitable. The curtain of ivy cut the wind, and Ravena quickly lit a lantern, casting all but the deepest corners in light. A small mattress lay in one corner, a pile of blankets resting on top. Apart from the makeshift bed and several barrels, the room was quite empty. A heavy door led further into the building.

"This is where I've been staying these past couple of weeks," Ravena informed her guest. "This house has been abandoned for a few months, from the looks of things, and a cave-in has blocked the front entrance." A slight smile crossed her face and was gone. "So everyone thought it was impossible to get inside. But I found my way inside after a few days lost in Peldor. I was so exhausted that I took the first mattress and the first blankets that I could find and lay down to rest. I chose this room because I was scared there still might be people in the house; this way, I could get out quickly if they found me. The next day I got around to exploring the house more fully, and I found a proper bedroom. It's quite a big house. And abandoned. I don't know what happened to the owners. Why don't I show you around?"

Ravena spent perhaps an hour showing Taurin around her new home, the rain forgotten except for the constant thrumming against the roof and the grey light that filtered through the uncurtained bedroom windows.

"Why did you run away?" Taurin asked suddenly. The two children had finished their circuit of the house and were in the bedroom upstairs. Ravena was lying on the bed, her clothes standing out against the dusty white sheets. Taurin was slumped in a velvet chair nearby. The question came to him suddenly, and it was out of his mouth before he could think better of it. He hesitated after speaking, immediately unsure whether the question was an appropriate one.

Ravena's face became very serious. After hesitating for a few moments, she answered. "I haven't told anyone this. When people ask why I ran away, I tell them that I had a fight with my parents and left. You seem different from everyone else, like I can trust you if I tell you the truth?" Her eyes were haunted now and her voice was anxious. "I can trust you, can't I, Taurin?"

Somewhat caught off guard, he nodded. "You can trust me, Ravena."

Ravena swallowed slightly then began to speak very quickly. "There are black things hunting me. I don't know what they are, because they only come out at night and I've never got a proper look at them, but I'm sure they're not human. They were stalking me in Katheton and they chased me here." She had an urgent look in her eyes, something close to terror. "Nobody else sees them. Some of the men searched the town but couldn't find them. I'm not sure whether anybody believes me or not. I thought they'd go away if I left Katheton, but they followed me all the way to the city. They nearly caught me on the way here. They've left me alone since I got here, but I'm not sure whether that's because they won't enter the city, or because they just haven't found me yet." Her voice was strained, her eyes watery. "I'm really scared, Taurin."

The boy from Bellguard reached out instinctively and clasped her hand. Unsure of what he was supposed to say, he sat there dumbly for several moments. "Everything will be okay," he managed lamely.

Ravena hung her head slightly. "I hope it will. I want to leave Peldor one day."

"Do you know why they're hunting you?"

The dark-haired girl hesitated slightly then shook her head. "No, I'm not sure." It was a lie; Taurin could tell that she knew the reason or could at least guess it, but she didn't want to tell him. He fought down his disappointment. It was her business, and she would tell him when she was ready.

Ravena glanced at the window facing out over the street below, and Taurin quickly followed her gaze. Through the foggy glass he could see what his ears had told him already; the rain had abated. It had not died away completely, but it had faded to a drizzle rather than a downpour. He stared at the window in contemplation, his thoughts turning to the creatures that stalked the girl as well as his own dark nemesis. Suddenly Ravena smiled at him, a slight flash of white that cut through his dark imaginings. He felt his arm being tugged, and he realised that he was still clasping her hand. He tried to let it go, but her grip was surprisingly tight. "I'm scared, Taurin," came her soft, insistent voice. He met her eyes, and found courage mingled with the terror he saw in their gentle brown depths. "I'm scared, but I'm not going to let that fact control my life. You and I are going to walk out there into the city. The rain's gone now, or most of it anyway, so we're going to walk out and see some more landmarks, and I'm not going to let myself think about black creatures or anything else. You're not going to let me think of them, either. Are we agreed?"

Meeting her steady gaze, Taurin found himself smiling, thoughts of stalkers and hunters already half forgotten. "Okay, Ravena. We're agreed."

They walked for perhaps half an hour through Peldor's streets with no particular destination and no real urgency, doing their best to ignore the gloomy weather and the iron horizon, talking of the unimportant events that had made up their lives so far and finding something new to observe around every corner. Taurin considered asking Ravena to take him to the Healing Chambers, but reasoned that if all the shops and museums were closed today, there would probably be no visitors allowed in the Old Castle either.

The two children had just turned a corner, moving from one lonely street far removed from the city's main roadways into another, when Ravena's knees buckled and she fell to the ground. Taurin went to help her, when suddenly a dizzy spell hit him, too. It lasted for only a moment, and when it passed Ravena was back on her feet beside him. "Sorry," she muttered. "I just felt a little faint."

Taurin was about to point out that the same sensation had come over him when he saw something that drained the colour from his face. A man had just entered the street and was walking ahead of them, a lean fellow garbed in grey and wearing a black hat left damp by the earlier rain. Even from behind he was recognisable. Taurin had seen him only once, but that memory would never fade. "The Collector …" he whispered to himself.

Ravena glanced at him quizzically, and he quickly urged her to silence by placing a finger to her lips. "That man attacked me two days ago," he explained, his voice a barely audible breath. "He hurt my father, and he said he'd kill me. He's called the Collector."

Ravena removed his finger and frowned slightly. "I've heard of him." She spoke very quietly as her eyes watched the Collector recede into the drizzle. "He's a very dangerous man, and he's killed a lot of people. Let's follow him for a while."

Taurin had to pause for a moment to convince himself that he hadn't misunderstood her. "You're insane," he managed at last.

"No, I'm not." Ravena was adamant now, already convinced that her idea was a good one. "The city guards have been trying to catch this man for months, but they don't know where he hides. Maybe he's going back to his lair right now. If we can follow him all the way to wherever he's going and take a quick look inside, we might be able to give the guards some useful advice." She looked at him intensely, her brown eyes ablaze with determination. Taurin revised his judgement. This girl was not insane; she was epileptic.

"He's promised to kill me if he sees me again, Ravena."

"He will see you again, Taurin. Leaving him alone won't do anything to keep you alive." Already she was moving forward, careful to avoid any puddles, fearful that any noise would alert their quarry. "But if we can help the guards catch him, he won't be able to hurt you. He won't be able to hurt anyone." She was beyond convincing, so Taurin followed her, his entire body quivering, his heart pounding so fiercely he was sure the Collector would hear it.

Before too long, they caught sight of the grey-clad criminal once again. The rain had intensified, falling in steady sheets that kept them hidden from view but also made tracking the Collector difficult. Somehow they kept him in their sights and remained unseen, following him through a maze of empty streets before emerging in front of a colossal building that Taurin recognised immediately. "The Hall of Royalty," he breathed in amazement.

Ravena grabbed his arm and pulled him behind a looming statue of two soldiers crossing swords just as the Collector swivelled to cast his eyes over the small plaza behind him. Peering over the statue's base, through a gap between one of the soldier's legs, Taurin could see the grey-clad man ascending the steps that led to the Hall's massive doorway. From a hidden pocket, the Collector drew forth a giant key and approached the doors. Even from where he hid, Taurin could hear the giant lock click open. Casting one final brief glance over the plaza, the Collector slipped inside, closing the door behind him.

Taurin released the breath he did not know he had been holding. "Whatever he's doing here, it's not his lair. Come on, Ravena. Let's go."

But the dark-haired girl shook her head. "He's obviously here for something important. I want to know what it is." A frown crossed her smooth forehead quickly before disappearing. "Besides, keys to the Hall of Royalty aren't very easy to come by. I'd be surprised if there's more than one key to the Hall in the whole city. Wherever the Collector stole that key from, it would have been well guarded. He's come here for something big."

"If he has, then we have no chance of stopping him." Aware that his voice betrayed his urgency, he forced himself to speak more calmly. "This man is a killer. He's a thief and a killer. And he has magic. If we follow him, we might die. Even if we somehow walk out of there alive, what can we do to stop him, Ravena? What can we do?"

She shrugged slightly, then rose from where she had been hiding. Before Taurin could stop her, she was walking towards the doorway. Casting a glance back in his direction, she shot him a disarming smile. "We won't find out by crouching behind that statue. Who knows? Perhaps we'll surprise ourselves." With that, she was walking purposefully towards the stairs, a miserable Taurin trailing.

"The door will probably be locked, anyway," he offered hopefully. "If we're lucky, we won't be able to get in."

The glance she directed at him was confused. "We were here yesterday. You saw the door then. It only locks from the outside. Remember?"

"I … don't notice things like that," he replied truthfully. He forced himself to grin. "You'd make a pretty good thief yourself, from the sound of it."

To Taurin's dismay, the girl looked well pleased. Then she grinned back at him and shook her head. "I've always been quite good at observing small things that others miss. Not too much gets by me. But we can leave the thief work to the Collector. And his crimes are about to catch up with him." She sounded so confident, so sure of herself, that Taurin found himself believing her. Perhaps they would leave the Hall of Royalty. Perhaps they would even discover something that would lead to the Collector's downfall. Doubt still gnawed at him from inside, but he fought it down, determined to match Ravena's bravery.

As Ravena had predicted, the door was still unlocked. The girl from Katheton eased it open gently, careful to make no noise, determined to avoid being seen from inside. Apparently the hallway was empty, because she motioned Taurin to follow and then slipped inside.

The hallway was exactly as Taurin had remembered it from the day before, except that this time there were no sentries. Blinking, he quickly noticed another difference. At the base of the four steps that led to the chamber housing the Sword of Legend, a square of red carpet had been pulled away, a hidden partition in the apparently seamless surface. The exposed floor revealed a stone trapdoor. Taurin groaned in dismay, the thought of following his quarry into darkness not at all appealing. Ravena's eyes sparkled.

Taurin did not even try stopping her this time as she headed towards the trap door. He could tell by now that it would be of no use. He followed her down a flight of stone steps and along a subterranean corridor, also paved with stone. It ended at a marble archway, an entry into unfathomable blackness.

The two children pressed through the archway and after a brief journey through darkness were surprised to find themselves on a marble balcony overlooking a deep room. A crystal chandelier hung from a vaulted ceiling, its light not particularly strong, but still bright enough to dispel some of the shadows. A long flight of stairs led from the balcony down into the room below, but Taurin was in no hurry to descend those stairs. Through a gap in the thin marble columns that formed the railing, he could see the Collector standing below. The outlaw's attention was totally preoccupied, so Taurin felt safe enough assuming a position against the marble railing, watching him. Ravena quickly joined him.

From out of the shadows below emerged a being so terrifying that Taurin almost let loose a yell. Beside him, Ravena looked ill, her tanned face suddenly gone very white. The figure was human—or at least human-shaped, because it was impossible to tell anything about it beneath the all-concealing black robes and cloak that it wore. Its head was covered by a black hood, and the little light that pierced this cowl fell upon a dull metal mask, broken only by two holes where the creature's eyes must be, holes that the light could not penetrate. The creature's shoulders were each covered by a black metal plate, each one dominated by a large black spike. Death seemed to hang about the black-clad creature like a pall, and it exuded a chill so severe that Taurin found himself shivering even from where he hid. The Collector looked positively harmless next to this new arrival. In fact, the Collector looked terrified.

"You have arrived at last." The black-clad one spoke, its voice at once both soft and powerful, sophisticated and terrible. "You are the one they call the Collector."

"Yes, that is what they call me." Taurin recalled the Collector's voice as being almost eloquent. Apart from the tone of fear that the outlaw could not disguise, it was exactly as he remembered it. Yet next to the black-clad creature's voice it seemed somehow ordinary; it was no less cultured than last time, but the other's voice was by far the more compelling. It sounded almost majestic. "And they call you Morathia."

"They have called me by many names. That is one of them." The tone now was almost reflective, as if the black-robed man was considering the distant past. "I have called you here, and you have come."

"I'm interested in hearing what you have to say, even if it has to be in the same building as the bones of every king back to Emen Baron." He was beginning to control his fear, and his voice was becoming increasingly bold. "But make it quick, because I have many other things to do."

"Not every king," the other amended, and the Collector looked confused, but kept silent. "I am aware of your other tasks, Collector, but stealing artefacts and terrorising travellers will have to wait."

"Don't be so quick to judge me," challenged the Collector. "I serve myself, and that is more than you will ever be able to claim."

Morathia paused for a moment, and the world seemed to stand still. A worried look crept across the Collector's face, and his hand went to the long knife by his side. But when the dark man spoke, his voice was neither angry nor any colder than before. If anything, it was amused. "I serve another master, and that is true. I also serve a cause bigger than myself. That is one claim you will never make."

The two figures regarded each other coolly for what seemed like an eternity. Their eyes were locked together in a test of wills, the Collector's two chips of obsidian staring into the shadowed holes in Morathia's mask. The Collector broke the stare first, glancing down quickly and then back up again. "It is a claim I never want to make," he stated defiantly. "Now, let's hear what you have to say."

"I have a task for you, Collector," Morathia offered, his voice cold and smooth.

"I probably won't accept it. I do what I want, when I want."

Morathia shifted slightly, and the shadows in the room seemed to gather around him, a pall of gloom that choked all light. "Right now, you want to do as I say. The rewards for doing so are compelling. The consequences for doing otherwise are not something you wish to contemplate."

Silence hung in the air for a moment before the Collector spoke again. When he did so, it was with something close to a sneer. Apparently, he had conquered his fear totally, at least for the moment. "You don't frighten me, Fiend of Darkness. I am skilled with my dagger, and I have magic at my command. I could slay you right now if I so chose." From next to where he crouched, Taurin heard a sharp intake of breath. Ravena found the outlaw's behaviour quite as bold as he did.

"You are welcome to try." It was an offer rather than a challenge, spoken without fear and with no bravado. "But once again, the consequences of failure are not the sort you would welcome."

The Collector glared at the one he had called the Fiend of Darkness, and then unsheathed a cruel dagger from his side. For an instant that contained an age of the world, the two men regarded one another. Then the Collector scowled, and shoved the dagger back into his belt. "Let's hear what you have to say."

Morathia spread his gloved hands wide, and the dim light far above seemed to fade away. "I seek a stone." He spoke quietly, and yet his voice held a dreadful intensity. Taurin found himself leaning forward in anticipation, though Morathia's voice easily carried to the far corners of the chamber. "I seek a stone that is a relic from another age of the world, an age that is now almost forgotten. It would appear to you to be almost made from glass, like a clear-walled prison holding captive blue light. You must bring it to me."

The Collector's eyes shone with something that might have been hunger. "This stone is magical, is it not?" He stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"It contains a measure of the very lifeblood of the earth." The shadows flickered as Morathia spoke, then grew darker as if feeding off his words. "Its power is awesome, and can serve many purposes. You do not have the power to use it. You never will. This stone will never be of any use to you, Collector, but in the right hands it can bring about miracles. Return it to me, and I will reward you greatly."

"Perhaps this task is worthwhile. Where can I find this stone? You must know something of its whereabouts."

"I do. But it is sealed away, beyond my reach. There is a cave about midway between the towns of Flinden and Katheton, at the base of a range called the Skalten Hills. You will recognise the cave when you see it, for its entrance is blocked by a slab of stone engraved with the old royal crest. I do not know what traps await within the cave, but I am certain you can overcome them."

"What of the seal?" The Collector cocked an eyebrow. "If it is so powerful that you cannot unlock it, then why should I be able to?"

"The old seals grow weak. And you are a clever man. You will find a way inside the cave. Now leave." Morathia took a step backwards, and it appeared that he would fade into the very shadows.

"One moment," challenged the other. "We have yet to discuss my reward." He stared at Morathia defiantly, and the man clad in darkness looked back.

Taurin felt a warm hand on his arm, and turned to find Ravena looking at him, her eyes grown large in the dim light. "They'll be finished soon," she whispered. "We want to be out of here when that happens." Suiting her own words, she began creeping back towards the archway. Removing himself from the railing, Taurin followed.

Far below, the Collector continued to glare at his new business partner, oblivious to the happenings above. But Morathia broke his gaze briefly—not that the Collector could see anything of what his eyes did—and glanced towards the shadowy balcony. Beneath the mask of iron, his hidden mouth settled into something that might have been a smile.


	4. Chapter 4: Almond Pocket

**Part Four: Almond Pocket**

Breathing heavily, Taurin emerged from the trapdoor, only a few steps behind Ravena. The girl looked quite as terrified as he felt. Whatever she had been expecting when she entered the Hall of Royalty, this was not it. In spite of himself, Taurin could not help feeling a little satisfied; she would not be so eager to rush into danger next time. Feeling guilty, he quickly brushed the thought away. He closed the trapdoor behind him and turned to face Ravena.

"What do we do now? Can we alert the city guards?"

The dark-haired girl shook her head. "It's not their job to be investigating things outside the city. Even if it was, they wouldn't be prepared to make a journey like that on our word alone." She pursed her lips in thought, as if she was considering what to say next. Suddenly she went very still, and the colour drained from her face. Taurin spun to see what had caught her attention.

A creature of nightmare was slowly creeping towards them. It was as black as midnight, with no features or clearly identifiable shape, and Taurin would have thought it were a shadow if not for the fact that it took up space and was moving. Part of the creature—it might have been its head—was fixed in their direction, as the monster lumbered slowly towards them.

Taurin cast his eyes about frantically. Apart from heading back down the trapdoor into the arms of the Collector—and worse, Morathia—their only escape lay through the intricate door immediately behind them. His frantic mind shouted that the door led to a dead-end, but he pushed the thought aside. Anything was better than just standing still. He cast a brief glance down at the trapdoor, but something innate told him that he would rather encounter one of these shadowy monsters than Morathia. He would rather encounter one hundred. He made a silent motion directing Ravena to the door. She obeyed without hesitation.

The chamber that housed the Sword of Legend was as glorious as the last time he stood beneath its vaulted ceiling. He cast his eyes around madly, the room's beauty going unnoticed, searching for an escape. Light filtered in from unseen slits far above, and emanated from the holy blade. The sword's dais dominated the centre of the room, presenting an obstacle for their enemy. If they remained behind the dais, their enemy would have to approach them from one side or the other, or else clamber over the dais. Either way, it depended on the black thing's speed. And what if it had other powers, as well as physical attack? "It's like the monsters that followed me from Katheton," Ravena whispered faintly, and Taurin felt his blood turn to ice. He pulled the giant door firmly closed behind him, and swore when he saw that it had no lock.

He had barely closed the door, and the two children had not even begun their retreat to the other side of the room, when the room darkened slightly. Locks would have achieved nothing; the creature was sliding under the door like a mist. "Run," Taurin shouted, suiting his own words. He was halfway across the chamber when he heard a dull thump, and then a scream. Ravena had tripped and fallen.

Taurin hesitated for only a moment. With a shout, he bolted back towards the girl, and pulled her up by her hair. "Go!" he yelled, and pushed her away. The creature was almost upon them, moving without urgency, sure of its ultimate success. It seemed to come at Taurin from all sides, and before he knew what had happened had backed him up the steps of the dais. Cowering, he looked up at the formless, colourless apparition that seemed to tower over him and recede well into the distance. He felt himself back up against the altar that dominated the room's centre. And then impulse struck him.

Acting almost without thought—barely even realising he had moved—Taurin felt his hands settle around the pommel of the Sword of Legend. His hands slid down onto the hilt, almost without him willing them. A sudden sparkling caught his attention, and he realised that the royal crest engraved on the marble altar was coming alive. Faint green light was tracing along its lines, now growing stronger, now burning as if aflame. Before he knew what was happening, he was drawing the unblemished silver blade from the altar and holding it aloft.

Light spread forth in all directions, first as a slow trickle outwards from the silver blade, then as a surge that illuminated the entire room. The black creature writhed in the face of initial outflow, then caught fire as the light spread, consumed from within by burning blue flames. Then, without warning, it was all over. The light ceased—unless it was that the Sword of Legend glowed slightly more fiercely than usually—and the creature of shadow was gone. Taurin collapsed, whether from emotional exhaustion or from the sudden emptiness that had stolen through him with the light's passing he did not know.

"Are you okay?" He heard Ravena's voice, as if from a great distance. He had closed his eyes—or had his vision gone black?—and he was floating far away from his body. He was numb except for the pulsing warmth of the Sword of Legend in his hands. "Taurin, are you all right?" This time her voice brought him back to himself. He rose to his feet, the activity surprisingly difficult. It took several moments for him to steady himself.

"I'm fine. Thanks." Her brown eyes were filled with worry as they examined his face. He felt himself go red. "No, really, I'm okay."

She was silent for a few moments, then nodded. Lowering her face, she broke eye contact. "I guess you saved both of us just then. Thanks a lot. For coming back for me, as well as what you did with the sword."

"I didn't do anything with the sword. That light came out of nowhere, when I pulled the sword loose."

She was looking at him again, not with worry but with something else. "I saw that. You shouldn't have been able to pull the weapon out, you know. It's been stuck there for a long time. It's held there with very strong spells." She glanced at the royal crest, which had returned to its original colour. "Very strong spells."

Taurin did not know what to say. He looked down at the Sword of Legend, finding it hard to believe that he was holding it in his hands, drinking in its brightness, admiring its sinuous outline. He attempted an experimental swing, then stopped in surprise. He had laid the weapon down at his feet. That wasn't what he had meant to do! Frowning slightly, he lifted it up again, and attempted to imitate one of Victen Armos' moves. Again, the sword lay at his feet. Slowly, bitterly, realisation crept through him. "I can't wield it."

"That's strange. Let me try." Ravena picked up the weapon. After hesitating for a moment, she quickly put it down. Astonishment flooded her face. "You're right. It can't be wielded. But why could you draw it out?"

Shrugging, Taurin reluctantly slid the sword back into its special hollow in the altar. The royal crest flared green and then faded to faint silver once more. Ravena tried her hardest to pull the weapon free and could not. Taurin approached the altar and placed his hands on the pommel. Again, he seemed to act without conscious thought. Again the crest burned with green light. Before he knew what was happening, he once more held the Sword of Legend. There was no explosion of light this time, for which Taurin was almost grateful. Perhaps it was only to occur the first time the weapon was retrieved, or maybe it had been in reaction to the black thing.

"You're just weak," he noted, managing a grin.

She smiled back. "Maybe, but you can't wield it, so that makes you weak too." Which of course was nonsense; the sword was feather-light, so much so that were it not for its unnatural warmth, Taurin would have forgotten he held it. Her tone suddenly became very serious. "What are we going to do now?"

"About the sword?" asked Taurin reluctantly. He doubted Ravena would approve of him taking it away with him, and he grudgingly supposed that she was right. Just because he could draw it from the marble did not make it his. Nevertheless, it was all very curious.

"You're leaving that where you found it." No surprises there, he noted dejectedly. "I'm talking about the Collector and that man in dark robes... Morathia." She said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and seemed genuinely surprised by the dumbfounded look he gave her. "They're up to no good, Taurin. If this stone's as powerful as they say, then we don't want them getting their hands on it. Not the Collector, and certainly not Morathia. He makes my blood go cold."

"Mine too. And that means we don't want anything to do with him." He forced himself to speak calmly, fighting down both his fear and his disbelief at the girl's insane idea. "Let him take his stupid stone. If you think the Collector will just hand it over, you're dead wrong. I could see the look on his face, even from the balcony. He's going to keep it for himself."

"And Morathia knows that." She looked at him imploringly as she spoke, her eyes filled with an urgency that matched her voice. "He will be searching for the Collector. He will find him, and take back the stone. A lot of people are going to suffer if that happens. You can't disagree with that, can you?"

That much was true, he acknowledged grudgingly. Morathia would go to any lengths to find the Collector, to retrieve the stone, and his intentions were undoubtedly as dark as the black robes he wore. But if he would hunt the Collector to get back the stone … "Ravena, if we get the stone first, then he will come after us."

"How is he to know that two children from two different small towns in the countryside around Peldor have it? He'll think the Collector is hiding it, and he'll have that in mind when he's searching for it. Katheton and Bellguard are the last places he would think to look."

All of which made sense, but it didn't make the task Ravena was suggesting any easier. "That's all well and good, but it depends on us reaching this cave before the Collector. I don't even know where the cave is."

"But I do." Her soft voice was insistent. He looked at her, puzzled. "When I was leaving Katheton, the black creatures chased me towards the Skalten Hills. They had me cornered right in front of that cave, late at night. I thought I wasn't going to see the dawn. For some reason, they backed away, leaving me alone. So, thanks to them, we know where the cave is. I guess they did us a favour, really." That was not what Taurin would have called it, and he gave her a grimace that said as much. Ravena responded with a grin. "Of course, it's sealed by a big slab of rock engraved with the royal seal. Who do we know who can break seals like that?" He gave her the most withering look he could muster, and she smiled triumphantly. "That's right. Which means we can get inside the cave."

"If nobody except me can break the seal, we've got nothing to worry about. The Collector will never get inside. We can save ourselves a long and dangerous journey." It was his turn to smile in triumph, though he was sure he still looked very gloomy.

Ravena gave a long-suffering sigh. "Nobody said you were the only one who could break the seal. No, don't look at me like that."

"Here I was, thinking I was special."

"You are special, Taurin. It's just that Morathia seemed sure that the Collector could—"

She froze in mid-sentence, and it didn't take Taurin very long to identify the source of her concern. Outside the chamber, there was a scraping as the trapdoor opened once again. "The Collector," he heard Ravena hiss, and felt himself go numb. There was no doubt in his mind that the man who had stalked him from his first day in Peldor stood only several paces away. An irrational fear took hold of him. What if the Collector could sense his presence? What if he came to investigate? This wild fantasy morphed into other, more concrete possibilities. The door to their chamber had been slightly ajar when they entered the Hall; now it was closed. What if the Collector noticed? What if the creature of shadow was in his service, and he stopped to investigate its disappearance? For long moments, Taurin Eldoom was too worried to breathe.

Then it was over, and he relaxed his rigid body. The trapdoor had closed, and the Collector was heading down the Hall. Another thought took hold of him. "Ravena," he whispered. "We're going to be locked in. He has the key."

She went very pale. "When the sentries come tomorrow, we're going to be in a lot of trouble." After a moment's thought, she brightened. "Morathia got in here somehow, and he didn't have a key. There was a tunnel leading out of the room below the balcony, and it must lead out of here." The foolish girl sounded excited!

"I'll take my luck with the guards."

"Taurin …" She sounded slightly exasperated now. "We'll never get to the cave before the Collector if we stay here."

"Then we've got no chance of getting killed. If we do things your way, we could get killed two ways. What if Morathia's not gone? What if he lives there, underneath the Hall of Royalty?" The thought made him shiver, but it was nothing next to the idea of going down to find out.

"I doubt it, but we'll be careful. Any sign of danger, and we'll head back. Does that sound fair?"

"Okay," he agreed, feeling miserable. "But if we're doing that, I'm taking the sword. It can help us." He wasn't sure how it could help, and it probably wasn't wise to take it, but if Ravena hated the idea, then it at least deserved consideration.

"You're doing nothing of the sort. Think for a moment. You can't wield it, and if you take it, every soldier in Peldor—every soldier in the Federation and every brigand in the world—will be searching for you." She grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the dais. "Please, Taurin."

"But it's okay to take this stone, and be hunted by Morathia and who knows what else?"

"That's different."

"How? How is it different, Ravena? I think I'd rather have the soldiers looking for me—and the brigands."

"Please, Taurin." She looked at him again, her eyes so anxious that he found himself moving away from the dais almost unconsciously. Taking control of himself, he stopped. Hesitating for a moment, he finally scowled and stepped away completely.

"You win," he conceded glumly. "Let's go downstairs."

The tunnel that ran from the trapdoor stairs to the balcony was as dark as last time, and even more terrifying; this time, he knew it wasn't just the Collector who might wait at the other end. It was something much darker. The two children emerged onto the balcony and noted with relief that the room it overlooked was deserted. At least it seemed deserted; when they had spied on the Collector, Morathia had emerged as if from nowhere. "Let's go downstairs," whispered Ravena.

The walk down the long flight of stairs was one of the most terrifying experiences of Taurin's life. It was agonisingly slow, each step torturous as he kept his eyes fixed on the gloom below, determined to make no noise. Eventually, after what felt like a lifetime, he reached the downstairs floor, Ravena beside him. Nothing emerged from the shadows, for which Taurin was thankful. In the dim light, he could barely make out an open door against the far wall, the passageway behind it running off into shadow. Steeling himself, he crept towards it.

He never could remember just how long he spent in that passageway. It seemed to run on forever, and yet at the same time there was almost nothing he could fix his mind on when he thought back on it. It was dark; he remembered that much. It was dark and it was musty and it was silent and it was cold. It felt like a tomb, and he wanted to scream. After what might have been hours or might have been less than a minute, he reached its end. There was a large pile of rocks before them, and for a dreadful moment Taurin thought the passage had collapsed. But then he saw that the rocks stood slightly beyond the hall's end, masking the entrance very effectively, but not blocking it. The world outside was brighter than the inside of the tunnel, but not by very much; early night had set in.

Taurin and Ravena emerged beside a small hill, its base littered with rocks and boulders. Rain was still falling, steadily but neither fast nor hard, and the park in which they stood was riddled with puddles. Taurin cast an apprehensive eye over his surroundings. In the far distance, he could make out houses, but they were unfamiliar and looked derelict. Ravena turned in his direction, her face flushed with excitement. "We made it out okay—hopefully a sign of things to come. In a better mood now?"

Feeling no desire to describe how he felt, Taurin directed her attention to the distant houses. "Any idea where we are?"

"We're in Trivin Park, right near the Almond Pocket."

"What's the Almond Pocket?"

"It's not a very nice part of the city," she replied simply. Seeing that he did not find her answer satisfactory, she elaborated. "It used to be called Keng District. It was poor, but there wasn't anything particularly dark about it. That changed about seventy years ago. An outlaw—I can't remember his name—an outlaw made his stronghold in one of the bigger buildings there. It's always just been called the Manor House. The Bandit Lord, as he became known, drew criminals from every part of the city and gathered them in Keng District, making it a den of thieves and worse. He operated secretly for a long time, though of course everyone knew that Keng District was where the criminals were, then came against the town guards in open war."

He looked at her doubtfully. "A few bandits took on Peldor's whole guard force?"

"More than a few bandits, Taurin. There were more than two hundred of them. And the guards did not bring their entire force to bear, at least not at first. They believed that the district's division could handle the problem. It ended up going on for three months, but the bandits were finally overthrown. The Bandit Lord himself was slain on the lawn in front of the Manor House. He died at the foot of a large almond tree."

"That's where it got the name from, right?"

"Very good." He could see her small smile clearly in the moonlight. "Many of the bandits were killed, but some weren't. And most of them had families that also turned to crime. Many of those families still live in Almond Pocket."

Taurin shuddered. "Sounds like a very good reason to avoid the place."

"We have to go right through it. In fact, we'll be walking right underneath the shadow of the Manor House." His frustration must have shown, because she held up a hand to restrain the inevitable outburst. "It's the only way—unless you want to do a loop around half the city and all but guarantee that we never make it to safety."

"You're determined to get us killed, one way or another." She looked at him as if trying to work out whether he was jesting or serious. Taurin himself was not quite sure how he intended it.

"Come on," Ravena muttered, and headed across the moist grass towards the distant houses, Taurin two steps behind. As the children approached, the buildings took shape, transforming from dark smudges into crude and inhospitable-looking structures. Faint light shone through the few windows that were not either shuttered or boarded up, tiny squares of yellow against Peldor's night. Taurin did not care for the look of the district, nor for its feel. As he reached the edge of the park—and the beginning of the neglected houses—he had the perception that eyes were watching him from the blackness between buildings. He tried his best to shake the feeling, but it refused to leave, an unsettling awareness that manifested itself as a tingle in his spine. He found himself turning around every few steps. Beside him, Ravena was doing her best to look untroubled, but her eyes betrayed her, darting from building to building, alleyway to alleyway.

They held their breath every time they passed a doorway or the mouth of an alley, and each corner they turned caused Taurin's heart to pound in his chest. There were no street lamps in Almond Pocket, and shadows lay heavy across its streets. Eventually the children found themselves passing the foot of a steep, short hill. It loomed to their left, crowned by a crumbling three-storey house that must have been at least two hundred years old. A shadowy lawn stretched away to their right. Taurin's breath caught when he saw a large almond tree rising up in its centre.

Steeling himself, he pushed forward past the Manor House. His eyes clenched tight, he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other, feeling the muddy street through the soles of his shoes. Finally, he was beyond the Manor House's shadow. He allowed himself to open his eyes, and took a look around in relief. Then panic hit him like a hammer.

Ravena was gone.

For a moment he stood where he was in total disbelief. She had been with him when they were passing the house, and now she had simply vanished. He cast his head about wildly, trying to find her. It was then that he heard a very faint shout, muffled as if a hand had been placed over someone's mouth. It came from near the Manor House. Taurin felt his stomach drop away completely. Ravena had been attacked—and he would have to go back to save her.

He had turned around before he knew what was happening, and his legs were carrying him back towards the Manor House almost of their own accord. He stopped when he was back beneath its shadow, his head scanning the shadows, his heart beating so hard he thought it might burst. He saw a flicker of movement over by the giant almond tree, a flash of metal reflecting the moonlight. Before he could think better of it, he was sprinting in its direction, a dark shadow passing through the rain.

A man stood in the tree's shadow, one hand around Ravena, covering her mouth, the other holding a sharp knife to her throat. The young girl's eyes were wide with terror, but she was standing as still as a statue. Apparently she had been persuaded not to struggle. The man who held her looked like something that had been exhumed from a grave. His skin was sallow and bruised, his grey-brown hair hung long and his eyes were feral. His mouth worked itself into a sneer as Taurin drew near.

"Go away, boy. Nothing for you here."

Taurin had no idea what he could do to help Ravena, but he took another step forward nevertheless. "Let her go," he demanded weakly.

"You go away now and nothing will happen to you. It's the girl I want." His voice was harsh and raspy. It made Taurin shiver.

He began to take another step forward but stopped in mid-stride when he saw the hand holding the knife tense. Ravena let loose a wild yell, cut off as the man's hand closed even more firmly across her mouth. Taurin felt hopelessness sweep through him. What could he possibly do to help her? "She doesn't have anything to give you. Leave her alone."

"It's not loot I want. Not tonight. I just want the girl." He eyes narrowed in hunger as he looked down at her face, and Taurin felt himself go numb. Ravena thrashed wildly for a brief instant, but a stroke with the knife left her still once again. "Such a pretty thing," the man whispered, his fetid breath so close it blew her hair.

With a shout, Taurin had begun to sprint towards him. This man was so vile that it made his stomach turn. "Easy, boy," the other snarled, bringing Taurin to a stop. "She's as much use to me dead as alive. Almost as much, anyway. You'd best back off." He smiled coldly, revealing a mouth with more gaps than teeth. The colour had left Ravena's face now; as impossible as it seemed, her eyes had widened further. For his part, Taurin just felt sick.

"What's going on here?" The voice was hard and assertive and filled with challenge. Taurin wheeled to discover its source. A figure stood in the near distance, tall and cloaked in shadow, its cloak billowing slightly in the gentle night air. Taurin had felt a moment's relief, but that quickly faded away and was replaced by pure panic. All he could think of was Morathia.

Then the figure was moving towards them, controlled and sure and without hesitation. It was not Morathia after all. It was a man wearing expensive-looking clothes and a dark brown cloak. He was very tall, and at once both lean and well-built. Long brown hair fell neatly down a pale, slender face, and his deep blue eyes were fixed on the man holding Ravena. Taurin felt his panic fade and hope flare anew. He knew deep inside that this man was here to save them.

"Let the girl go," he said flatly, his voice so certain that Ravena's captor released her for a moment before pulling her close once again. The newcomer raised one dark eyebrow. "You won't like what happens to you if you don't. That was your first warning. I won't give you a second." He paused for a moment, his voice seeming to hang in the air. "So, let me ask you again. Let the girl go." He unsheathed a long silver sword, pulling it from his side in one fluid motion. His eyes never left the outlaw.

Taurin was watching the sallow-skinned man, too. For a brief instant it looked as if he would obey. His face revealed a long moment's hesitation, and even his eyes were lucid. Then his hand jerked, and Taurin shouted as he saw the knife drive towards Ravena's throat.

The man with the silver sword had begun running in the outlaw's direction even before the knife started moving. A running leap through the air brought him against his opponent just as the knife was about to plunge into Ravena's throat. His slender blade arced downwards, deflecting the thrust. With his spare hand, he effortlessly pulled Ravena from the other's grip and pushed her away.

The outlaw stabbed wildly, but Ravena's saviour parried the thrusts so effortlessly that for one wild second he reminded Taurin of Victen Armos. Their exchange ended abruptly; the man with long brown hair thrust suddenly at the other's chest, the sword sinking deep. The bandit staggered for an instant, and then fell against the roots of the almond tree, his body gone stiff and his eyes empty. Taurin felt ill, but the illness battled with a perverse satisfaction as he looked upon the body of the man who had meant Ravena such horror. Shuddering, he looked away, and regarded the tall newcomer.

"I don't like killing," the other offered simply. He took another glance at the corpse and shook his head. "But sometimes, you save other lives further down the track if you take one now. I hope this is such a case." He turned towards Ravena, who was crouched on the ground in shock or terror or something else. "It's over now," he whispered gently, and drew her to her feet. He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and then held her close for a moment before releasing her.

"Who are you," Taurin asked abruptly, finally managing to fight down the shock of everything that had happened.

"I am called Jasen Norst." He smiled disarmingly. "I'm nobody very important."

He held out his hand and Taurin took it. Jasen had a very amiable air to him, and Taurin would have found him hard to dislike—even if he had not saved Ravena's life. "I'm Taurin," he offered. Seeing that Ravena was still too shaken to speak, he added, "and she's Ravena."

"I see," replied Jasen, sweeping back his hair and freeing it of rainwater. "It's fortunate that our paths crossed tonight. But what brings two young people like yourself into this part of Peldor—particularly at this hour? Surely you know it's not safe."

"We got lost, and were trying to find our way back home. Ravena said we had to get through Almond Pocket. It certainly wasn't my idea," Taurin explained.

Jasen Norst smiled and shook his head in something that might have been amusement. "Let's not get into the business of apportioning blame." He looked concernedly at Ravena. "She needs a good night's sleep, and she needs it as soon as possible. And she definitely doesn't need any more problems on the way home. I will accompany you until you are safely home."

Taurin felt a heavy burden lift from his shoulders. "That would be a big help. Thanks."

"Where do you need to go?"

"Ivory Lane," provided Ravena suddenly, her voice faint and hoarse.

"And I need to go to the Pirate's Haven, on Heritage Court," Taurin added.

Ravena shook her head. "No, Taurin. We'll have to leave early tomorrow, and I won't have time to come and find you. Besides, I really don't want to be alone tonight."

"Okay, we'll both be going to Ivory Lane."

Jasen turned and ushered them along the street. Directing one last glance at the still body of their assailant, Taurin fell into line behind him and Ravena. Jasen led them on through the rain and the night, sure of the route, never hesitating even once. He spoke to them as they walked, talking of distant lands that he had seen and strange people he had met. Taurin tried to guess his age, but could not settle on any particular range. He had the look of someone who had left youth behind a very long time ago, and yet had many years left to run before old age finally overcame him. From the way Ravena's eyes lingered on him, Taurin guessed he must have been very handsome. Either that or she was simply grateful that he had saved her life, he told himself and shrugged. It really made no difference. He turned his thoughts to the road they must travel tomorrow on a journey whose end they might never see.

"What brought you to Peldor, Lord Jasen?" Ravena asked suddenly, interrupting his reverie.

The tall man was silent for a moment and then shrugged. "There's no reason why I should keep it a mystery," he mused, as if talking to himself. "My allegiances have never been secret." He paused for a little longer and continued, his voice directed towards both Ravena and Taurin, but his eyes fixed on something distant, staring beyond the blackness into lands only he could see. "I am part of a war—a war that has not yet been openly declared, but will one day cover these lands in shadow and fire." He spoke quietly, but his voice was intense. "It's a secret war at the moment, but it can still do a lot of harm. My enemies are dangerous, and they would stop at nothing to ruin the world. In fact, I don't know if they have a deeper goal. They are dark creatures who hate all life. Their general is a wraith named Morathia."

Taurin felt his hair stand on end. He glanced meaningfully at Ravena, who looked back at him in wide-eyed terror. He considered saying something to Jasen, but the other had already seen the exchange of looks. "I see you know something of this creature."

Seeing no point in lying, Taurin nodded. Though he could not quite figure out why, he felt it was important that he told Jasen Norst all he knew. "We saw him a few hours ago," he began, and recounted the happenings beneath the Hall of Royalty, Ravena listening silently and giving the occasional encouraging nod. When he finished, Jasen's mouth was tight and apprehension was etched on his face.

"That is grave news," he whispered after a long silence. "If he gets that stone it will spell trouble for all of us." He frowned, and when he spoke again his voice was concerned. "And yet I have pressing tasks here in Peldor—tasks only I can complete, and the consequences of failure are just as dire. This war is fought on many fronts."

Silence settled over the small group as they trudged on through the rain. It was Ravena who eventually spoke. "We're going to get the stone before he does—me and Taurin."

Taurin more than half expected to hear Jasen laugh, and he honestly couldn't have blamed the man if he had. Instead, he felt the other's deep eyes examining his face. "Yes," Jasen replied at last. "I think you both have it in you to succeed in this task." A smile crossed his face, disappearing so quickly that Taurin was unsure whether it had been there at all. "It sounds like madness … sending two children against the might of the Shadow Kingdom. But it just might work. In any case, you're the only ones here to try it. You're the only hope."

"We'll do our best," Ravena promised. "Is Morathia … really a wraith?"

"Nobody knows. He keeps himself cloaked in black, and his face is hidden behind a mask that he never removes. He might be a wraith; he might be a man." He paused as he directed them down a side street. "In truth, he would be the only one who knows. Perhaps he himself has forgotten by now. Perhaps his soul has become so stained that it doesn't matter." Taurin shivered involuntarily. He could not quite decide which was the more frightening—a wraith, or a man who had discarded his own humanity.

"You must undertake this journey alone." Jasen was speaking again. "But I will offer what advice I can. Even if you know this cave's location and your enemy does not, you must make haste. If the cave is between Flinden and Katheton, it's probably about five days to the north, travelling by foot. But you should head west. Less than two days of travel will bring you to a fairly thick woodland. Make your way into the woods and you'll find … some friends who will make your journey faster and easier. Go with them as far as Flinden, and then travel the rest of the way alone." He looked at Ravena. "The land near the Skalten Hills is rough, as you would already know."

They finally reached the front door to the building Ravena had made her home. She directed Jasen to the side of the building, and after thanking him profusely for saving her, slipped through the wall of ivy and disappeared inside. Taurin made to follow her, when he felt a restraining hand on his shoulder. Jasen motioned for him to remain outside for a moment.

"What is it?" Taurin asked curiously.

"Just something I think I should tell you." The other's voice was low and smooth. "I said I sensed something special about both of you. That's true; I have an eye for such things. There is more to each of you than meets the eye. Your friend has talents she is yet to fully discover … as do you, Taurin. Therefore, I'm asking you two things. First, look after the girl." His voice fell to almost a whisper as he continued. "Also, if you survive this journey, I want you to keep the stone. Something tells me that if anyone can keep it from our enemies and one day put it to good use, it's you. Do your best, Taurin." Then he turned on his heels and strode away, a shadow disappearing into the deeper blackness of the night.

Try as he might, Taurin could not settle into a proper sleep that night. He lay restlessly on the bed, looking up at the ceiling, and the comfortable mattress might as well have been as hard as stone. The constant beating of rain outside was distracting rather than comforting, and as night lengthened, a thunderstorm set in. Every time Taurin thought he would drift off, a loud peal would return him to full alertness. The flash of lightning, visible as the occasional yellow blur through the heavy windows, was equally unsettling. Beside him, Ravena slept without any troubles, unless it was that she occasionally moaned in her sleep and shifted uneasily as if her dreams were not pleasant ones.

Tomorrow would see him embark upon a journey towards a cave that Morathia seemed sure would challenge even the Collector. It would be a dangerous enough adventure even if it were not for the rogue who also sought the stone. Sighing, he wondered whether his father would be fully recovered before Taurin returned—_if I return_—and if so, what he would think when he could not find his son. _If I had have known all of this would happen, I would have never come to Peldor. I would have stayed at home._ It was certainly the truth, but he realised at the same time that dwelling on the past would accomplish very little. What mattered was the future, the mystery that awaited him beyond a sealed entrance bearing the royal crest. _With any luck I won't be able to open it. Then we can turn around and go home._ He knew that he was being futile even before he finished the thought. He would be able to break the seal. It was the one thing he was sure of. Not that it made any difference; if he could not unseal the cave, Ravena would insist they wait around and then follow the Collector inside. _That girl will get both of us killed before all of this is over._ With that thought—somewhere between despair and exasperation—still in his head, he eventually settled into a light sleep. His dreams were surprisingly calm.

Equally surprising was his mood when he awoke the next morning, stirred from sleep by the gentle warmth of sunlight falling across his face. He felt oddly refreshed—more refreshed than he had a right to be, given that he had slept for only a few hours—and ready for their long journey. By no means was he looking forward to what lay ahead but he felt oddly certain that he could handle it.

Ravena still slept, her smooth face peaceful and her breathing even. Reluctantly placing a hand on her shoulder, Taurin gently brought her awake. "Time to get started on your foolish adventure," he explained, and was surprised to find himself smiling. His sense of satisfaction was complete when she muttered sleepily and closed her eyes again. Shaking his head, he roused her and half-lifted, half-dragged her to her feet. "Time to save the world, Ravena," he declared mockingly. Yawning and rubbing sleep from her eyes, the dark-haired girl finally came fully awake.

Indicating that he should wait, she disappeared through the bedroom door. When she eventually returned, the torn purple silks that she had worn for the past two days were gone, replaced by more suitable travelling garb—brown tights and shirt that were not as tattered as her previous clothing. Glancing at his own shirt and pants, still caked with mud and flecked with leaves, Taurin momentarily regretted not returning to his room at the Pirate's Haven the previous night. Ravena had also brought a backpack, filled with some equipment they might need as well as "all the food I had left". Satisfied that she had everything they required, she led him downstairs and towards the ivy-coated exit.

They were about to step outside when Ravena spotted two pouches placed just inside the entrance. Each was accompanied by a slip of parchment bearing instructions. She picked up the first pouch—a small bag as black as midnight—read the note and examined the instructions, and then passed it to Taurin. The instructions read, _It will explode upon striking its target if thrown hard enough. Use it well._ The pouch contained a craggy white stone that fitted easily in Taurin's hand, and looked fragile, as if it were ready to crumble. "Probably from Jasen," he suggested, and looked at Ravena, who nodded. He put it carefully away, and took the second bag Ravena offered him. This one was brown. The note read, _These are not to eat! They are for the friends you will find in the woods to the west._ Curious, Taurin opened the bag. To his great surprise, it contained four orange sticks that he quickly recognised as being carrots. He shook his head in confusion, and closed the pouch.

"I have no idea, either," commented Ravena, seeing the look on his face. "I'll be interested to see what sort of friends are waiting in the woods."

_If we even make it that far_, Taurin thought glumly, and quickly pushed the thought from his head. He would not dwell on the possibility—the near-certainty—of failure. He would simply do his best and last for as long as he could. Jasen—and Ravena—could ask for no more. "Let's go," he requested, finding Ravena's eyes and holding her inquisitive gaze. "I'm ready to find out what's in store for us."

They stepped outside, and Taurin was relieved to see that the rain had passed. The sky was overcast, though sunlight broke through far to the east, and a faint fog clung to the ground, obscuring their vision and reducing the light from the street lamps to a faint blur. Ravena led him through the town, pausing only occasionally to determine which street she should take, and before long they had reached the city gates.

The long bridge ran from beneath the gateway and connected with hard earth on the other side of the city's moat. The land beyond stretched out in all directions, a flat expanse dotted with the occasional tree and the even rarer dwelling. Far to the west—where they would initially be heading—the fog grew thicker, and choked off all vision, a white wall that marked the end of the visible world. The last time Taurin had crossed this bridge had been when he and his father entered Peldor, having no idea what awaited. It seemed like a lifetime ago. In reality, it was only three days.

Seeing his hesitation, Ravena stopped at the mouth of the bridge and smiled encouragingly. "This isn't the time to be having second thoughts." Taurin did his best to look determined, and then set foot onto the bridge. And with that, he was out of Peldor and into the wide lands that lay outside its gates. If he had looked up, he would have seen Morathia standing on the city walls far above, a dark smudge against the pale dawn.


	5. Chapter 5: The Tale of Peldor and Baron

**Part Five: The Tale of Peldor and Baron**

They travelled west for the remainder of that day, leaving the region's hard paved roads behind and disappearing into fog-cloaked lands where most travellers did not venture. The ground became more uneven as they continued and the foliage became denser. Trees of many descriptions rose from the fog, pines and firs and cypress trees that crowned the surrounding hills and loomed against the dense sky, and the land occasionally broke into gullies rich with life. Every once in a while animals would cross their path, wild creatures that either ignored them wholly or gave them only a cursory look before disappearing once again into the mist. Once, Ravena spotted movement in the distance, and they hid in deep foliage as a tribe of imps passed by, twenty or so stocky creatures garbed in green and white. Master Greylin insisted that the scattered tribes of imps that inhabited these regions were mostly harmless and usually as scared of humans as humans were of them—it was only the races that dwelt in the now-sealed Underworld and the far north that were dangerous or malicious—but Taurin was not eager to test the extent of his teacher's lore.

Close to evening, the brush gave way, and the two travellers found themselves looking over a boggy expanse at whose end lay the beginning of a dense forest. Tendrils of fog rose from the swampy ground ahead of them, thick streams of mist that crept across the soft earth like a body of water before rising to join the grey horizon.

"It's very foggy," remarked Taurin, as he lay down to rest against the roots of a towering tree, his legs sinking deep into the carpet of brown and yellow leaves that had gathered over the prior months, "almost as if the sun never shines here."

"It rarely does." Ravena's voice was remote, as if she her thoughts were far away. Turning towards her, Taurin saw that her eyes also bore a distant look. "The lands to Peldor's west are like this for most of the year. The sun only shines in summer, and farther to the northwest, not even then. They call those lands the Mist-heath. There aren't many trees, just weeds and shrubs and a lot of fog, but there aren't many people, either. Some of the storytellers in Katheton say there's a very old village somewhere beyond the Mist-heath, on the other side of the caves and tunnels that run through the Everchill Range. They say there's a valley there, where the mist is thickest." She shook her head. "Even the people who tell these stories don't know what the village is called. Nobody's been there in a very long time, and the people of the village no longer speak the same language as other lands. We just call it Mist."

"How do you know so much?" Ravena broke off her reverie and looked at him. Taurin shrugged. "I mean, about the world, about the lands around Peldor."

"My parents were pretty important people in Katheton," Ravena replied at last. She hesitated for a small moment, as if collecting her thoughts, and then continued. "My father came from outside of these lands before I was born, and he brought a lot of money with him. He seemed to think that it was important that I was taught about geography and language and astrology, those sort of things." She gave a small laugh. "And I ended up a street child, at least for a few weeks. So I guess all my education didn't do me much good."

"What was it like, being taught all of that?" Master Greylin taught the children in Bellguard, and although there was nobody to compare him against, Taurin had always believed he did it very well. All the same, children had many duties, and time set aside for teaching was always limited. Greylin seemed to go out of his way to make interesting stories boring and to talk as little about heroes and wars as possible, but Taurin had still always liked history. "Did you cover many old stories, history about battles and prophecies and things like that?"

Ravena nodded. "A fair bit. Obviously I don't know all of them, because I'm still being taught. Mostly I know stories about the Federation and the land of Peldor, but also some of the larger tales like the one about King Cecil and Zemus, and the stories about King Peldor's life and his battles against the Seven Crimson Sorcerers. Also, a bit about the end of the Shadow Years and the founding of Mysidia as the first city, at least of the cities that remain today."

"Can you tell me about King Peldor?" Everyone knew the king's name—it was the most famous in the city's storied history—but some of his deeds were not so well known. The story of King Cecil was more easily recounted, a single great adventure set over a span of months whereas Peldor's journeys and achievements spanned many years. Cecil's story also had a much happier ending.

"I can. Not all of his journeys, because there are too many—at least for one night. But I can tell you a bit. When Cecil came back from his journey to the Red Moon and was made king, the world hoped for a long peace. And for a while there was peace …"

And so she began her story, telling of the birth of Peldor Harvey in a time of peace and plenty, when the age of kingdoms was growing old but still had countless years left to run and it seemed as though the harmony brought about by the fall of the lunar mage Zemus would last forever. He was born to King Cecil and Queen Rosa, who had fought Zemus to secure the world's future, and in his veins flowed not only the blood of heroes but the Blood of the Moon. Cecil had been the son of a great lord among the Lunarians, the people who inhabited the Red Moon and whose race predated the races of the earth. This mighty lineage continued with Peldor.

Peldor was born in Cecil's seventh year as ruler of Baron, and was younger than his sister Laurelia by three years. Even from his earliest days, he approached the idea of being king with reluctance. His talents lay with the art of healing, and so did his interests. He refused to learn how to wield a sword, brushing off his father's protests and maintaining that his place in the world was to save life, not to take it. Eventually, the stress that went with being heir to the throne of Baron proved too much, and shortly after his fifteenth birthday Peldor left home, escaping from his regal chambers in the dead of night and disappearing from all knowledge. Search parties were sent forth but could not find him; the royal guard patrolled the surrounding countryside but learnt nothing of his whereabouts.

In fact, Peldor had left Baron. He changed his name, his clothes, even the colour of his hair. Calling himself Jarel Arment, he began a journey across foreign lands and eventually arrived in Toroia, where the art of healing was experiencing a renaissance. The man who now called himself Jarel became apprentice to the famed healer Cynta Crestlem, and was the first male to become a Toroian healer in more than a century. Years passed, and Peldor grew to manhood. He became a famed healer and a trusted friend of the governing Circle of Clerics. He also caught the eye of a young woman named Hella Fiodel, the youngest daughter of Toroia's High Cleric and accounted a great beauty.

Back in Baron, King Cecil had fallen gravely ill. One morning, in his fifty-second year, he called his councillors to his side and confided that his illness was terminal. With proper care and the right medication, he might last another year—perhaps two. However, he had no wish to lie idly in bed, watching his days slip away and waiting for death to claim him. He vowed that he would climb Mount Ordeals once again, and at its summit he would relinquish his spirit and pass from the world of mortals. He would also set the Sword of Legend back into its shrine, awaiting the next man or woman who would claim the mantle of Paladin. Before he died, he wished to see his son one last time. Scouts went through the lands searching for Peldor, but again they could not find him. Word of the king's illness had not yet spread beyond the walls of Baron Castle, so Peldor himself had no reason to search out his father.

When the scouts returned with no word of the prince, Cecil announced his final journey to the people of Baron. He also decreed that a circle of regents would govern until Peldor was found; if the prince did not return to Baron within seven years, then a new king would be chosen. There was much mourning in Baron as the people realised that the passing of their beloved king was close at hand. Nevertheless, Cecil undertook his journey, accompanied by ten soldiers whose duty was to bear his body from the mountain top once his life had passed away. The great king's final odyssey was completed successfully, and legend holds that a glorious blaze that could be seen across half the world emanated from atop Mount Ordeals as Cecil Harvey gave back his life.

Word of the king's passing reached Toroia, and the man who called himself Jarel was grieved to hear of the death of his father, no matter how triumphant his end. He vowed that one day he would visit the site of Cecil's departure from the world of mortals. He also reaffirmed that he would never return to Baron; the city could choose a new king. It was later that year that he proposed to Hella, and she accepted. They arranged for their wedding to be held on the third Fullmoon Day the following year.

The wedding of Jarel Arment and Hella Fiodel was to be one of the high points of Toroia's calendar. But, early that year, tragedy struck. Jarel and Hella were out on a riding expedition when a figure decked in black armour emerged from the undergrowth and struck their chocobos down with deadly crossbow bolts. He then came at them with his sword and stabbed Hella. Jarel tried his utmost to fend off the attacker, but without a weapon he was helpless. The man in black armour brushed him aside and continued to stab his fiancé. He then came for Jarel, who was saved only by the arrival of a patrol of Toroia's soldiers. The figure retreated, leaving Jarel looking helplessly at the mortally wounded figure of Hella. The soldiers helped him bear her back to Toroia, where he watched her life slip away, his powers of healing unable to save her or even ease her pain.

He vowed then, as he watched her pass from the world, that he would find her killer and avenge her death, regardless of how long it took, no matter the cost to himself. He abandoned the arts of healing, and dedicated every waking hour of his life to becoming a master swordsman. Grief lent strength to his resolve, and within four years he could best any swordsman or swordswoman in Toroia. During his long road to mastery, he had cultivated a network of scouts to determine who the man in black armour was, and to locate him. After years of fruitless search and countless false leads, one of the scouts returned with news: the man was an assassin known simply as Onyx, and he was last seen in Fabul.

Two hours after receiving the news, Peldor left Toroia and began a long journey towards Fabul. By the time of his arrival, Onyx had departed, but Peldor was able to learn his next destination. Across the world he tracked his quarry, the months slipping by with no result. Eventually, he caught Onyx in Mysidia, and they fought to the death. Peldor was almost slain by Onyx's first blow, a severe slash to the torso, leaving a wound that would never fully heal. But he fought on, his grief and determination lending him endurance he had never before possessed. He bested Onyx with a thrust to the chest, a blow that clove through the assassin's dark armour and broke Peldor's sword in two.

As the assassin lay dying, he revealed that he had been sent to kill Jarel Arment—who was really Peldor, heir to the throne of Baron. His services had been bought by the Crimson Sorcerers—the seven regents who governed Baron in the absence of a king, and who sought to cement their regime by slaying the heir to the throne. When Onyx had failed to slay Peldor, he had earned the ire of the Crimson Sorcerers. They had sent agents to try and kill him, but he overcame them. He had considered extracting revenge on the mages, but they were too powerful, both in sorcery and influence. If Peldor truly wishes to avenge Hella's death, then he must return to Baron and slay the Crimson Sorcerers. The only weapon capable of overcoming their dark arts was the Sword of Legend, which once again rested atop Mount Ordeals, to Mysidia's east. Then Onyx died, but Peldor's quest continued.

He made the perilous journey to the summit of Mount Ordeals, and entered the Shrine of Paladins. His father's spirit came to him, then, and told him that in order to become the next holy warrior, he must overcome his past. Peldor then saw the consequences of every decision he had made in his life, every remote connection between his choices and their effects. He was shown how his desire to be a healer had left Baron exposed to the cruel reign of the Crimson Sorcerers and how his presence in Toroia had led to the death of Hella. Peldor cried out for the torture to stop, but the story of his life went on. Then, when he thought it was all over, his reflection emerged from the crystal walls and attacked him. It morphed into the form of Jarel Arment, but his curative powers had been transformed into powers of death. Whenever it gestured as if to cast a spell of healing, Peldor felt pain lace across his body. It became too much, and he collapsed into blackness.

When he finally awoke, he had been reborn as a Paladin.

Peldor returned to Baron with Legend in his hand. It was the seventh year of the Crimson Sorcerers' rule, and few people now expected to ever see the heir return. When Peldor strode up to the castle gates and challenged the mages to do battle, the news spread like a firestorm. Before the sun set that day, there were rallies held at almost every plaza in the city demanding that the mages vacate the castle. The sorcerers made no response to their demands, hidden safely behind the castle's mighty walls. Several favoured using the royal guards to drive Peldor from the city, but the leader of the mages—a cruel but shrewd man called Jafax Isenstor—determined that such an act would incite riots, and perhaps even cause the soldiers to turn against the mages. It was much wiser to flee Baron, and use the connections they had made while in power to seize influence in other lands and work to build a new empire. Their control of Baron had also given them access to ancient tomes revealing black magics thought lost to the world. With power like that, they would have little difficulty rising to prominence in other kingdoms. He promised them that they would one day return to Baron, and he would make it his life's duty to vanquish Peldor Harvey.

As the next day dawned, Peldor was still standing before the gates to the castle. He was now backed by a formidable army of townspeople and even soldiers. Before midmorning, the gates to the castle swung open, and the head of the royal guard declared that the Crimson Sorcerers had disappeared during the night. He swore fealty to Peldor and welcomed him back home. Peldor took the throne ten days later, and ordained that Baron was at war with the Crimson Sorcerers; he would scour the land searching for them, and he would destroy them.

Ravena then told what she could of the following two decades, years so rich with history that she was forced to be very brief. Still, Taurin heard enough to satisfy his curiosity. He heard about war waged on foreign shores and on the plains surrounding Baron and even in the sky. He heard about epic adventures that Peldor himself undertook, spending as much time away from Baron as on its throne, hunting his nemeses, and he heard about the Crimson Sorcerers' retreat to the Underworld to forge their empire anew.

The part of the story Ravena remembered most clearly was when Peldor sneaked into a windowless stone tower held by the Crimson Sorcerers, hearing that it stored a mighty treasure. He was searching for a talisman to help vanquish his foes. Instead, he found Alena Rasslehelm, the stunning daughter of the world's wealthiest merchant. The Crimson Sorcerers had been holding her for several months, threatening her with death unless her father financed their war. Peldor rescuing her earned him Alena's father's gratitude, and it also earned him her affection. The first would translate into an unlimited stream of supplies for Baron's soldiers. The other would lead to a happy marriage, a new queen for Baron, and one child: Theolen Harvey, whose name would be fabled but not loved.

After almost twenty years of conflict and adventure, Peldor Harvey had destroyed the forces of the Crimson Sorcerers. The mages themselves retreated into the vast Underworld, there to amass a new army and dream of revenge. Peldor knew he could not find them underground, so he concentrated on rebuilding his kingdom, vowing that he would avenge Hella Fiodel before he departed from the world.

In the years that followed, Baron flourished. Towns continued to grow into cities, goat tracks became great roads of stone, and the towers of the capital rose ever higher. Baron's name grew as a city of fine arts, and its smiths produced weapons famed the world over. But the peace did not last as long as its citizens had hoped. In the eighth year after the retreat of the Crimson Sorcerers, word grew of a vast force growing in the mountains to the north-east. Rumour said that its soldiers were not human, and that they came from tunnels leading to the centre of the world, tunnels forged by magic. The Crimson Sorcerers had returned, stronger than ever and ready for the final battle.

Baron's armies made a brave stand, but they were swept aside by the vastness of the enemy forces. It was comprised of dark imps from the Underworld as well as other nameless creatures that were more terrifying. Some people said these creatures devoured souls.

Driven back behind the city's gates, Peldor decided to make one final assault against the black army, his goal being to reach the sorcerers and die fulfilling his oath for revenge. And so a massive counterattack began, a charge that emptied Baron's garrisons, the single most ambitious battle in the army's storied history. It failed. The forces of the Crimson Sorcerers seemed indestructible. Peldor himself was thrown from his chocobo and surrounded by enemy forces.

At that moment, the horizon was obscured by the arrival of a new army. Not as large as either of the forces currently on the battlefield, it nevertheless clove through the startled ranks of the Underworld invaders and freed Peldor. The enemy forces were so astounded by the unexpected arrival of this new force that they fell back in despair.

Peldor was taken to the leader of his newfound allies. All the soldiers in this army wore black, but while everyone else wielded a sword, this man carried a spear. He introduced himself as Kain Highwind, one of Cecil's companions on his journey to the moon. Kain had betrayed Cecil during his quest, a turn of events brought on by the magics of Zemus and by Kain's own human flaws. After Zemus was vanquished, Kain had left his friends and journeyed to Mount Ordeals. He intended to spend the rest of his life atop that terrible mountain, doing penance for his wrongs—and in fact he spent many long years on its slopes, fighting hideous creatures and risking his life every day.

Many years later, Cecil made his final journey to the summit of Mount Ordeals, there to relinquish his sword and give back his life. He encountered Kain on his journey to the top, and released him from his self-imposed penance. He called him a friend and told him to do whatever good deeds he could; the path to redemption was travelled by helping others, not by punishing oneself.

So Kain founded the Warriors of Kain, a clan of elite swordsmen initially operating in secret and dedicated to overthrowing injustice. In later ages, the Warriors of Kain would stray from the path of virtue and become little more than mercenaries. But for many years after their foundation, they held to their purpose. They had been training near Baron when word reached them of an army from the Underworld heading towards the city. If they were able to hold off the assault until help arrived from other nations, then perhaps Kain could repay his debt to Cecil. He was an old man now, his hair grey where it was not white, but the many years spent on Mount Ordeals had made him the most talented fighter in the world. He would consider it an honour to fight and die alongside Cecil's son.

Aided by the Warriors of Kain, Peldor fought a desperate delaying battle, hoping to fend off the attackers until Baron's friends in other lands could mobilise and march to its rescue. The defence dragged on for many months and the attackers breached Baron's walls many times, but they were always thrown back. Kain himself was slain, defending Rosa Harvey from a spray of enemy darts. The Warriors of Kain promised to fight on in his memory, saying that the survival of Baron would be his legacy. Eventually help came, first from Damcyan, then from Fabul and Toroia, and finally from Eblan. The combined forces of the free lands prevailed, and the armies of the Crimson Sorcerers were put to rout.

All seven of the mages perished during that final battle, Jafax Isenstor by Peldor's own hand. But something had happened during the long months of conflict that would not become known until later. Jafax had disguised himself in beggar's robes and had crept into the great city. He made his way to the castle, and there he encountered Theolen, heir to the throne. His intention was to slay him, a bitter, cruel and cowardly strike at the Harvey line, designed only to cause grief. When he finally entered Theolen's chambers and encountered the prince, he sensed something that changed his plans completely and set into motion a vast and terrible scheme that he had not even considered.

There was something very strange about Theolen, not in the way he looked or even the way he behaved—but Jafax could read the spiritual patterns of other beings, and Theolen's was different from anything he had ever encountered. The exact nature of the difference was impossible to determine, but Jafax could immediately sense its basic character, and he could very quickly guess many of the surrounding circumstances.

When Cecil had destroyed the core of Zemus' spirit, the vanquished lunar mage had lashed out with a black curse, not a curse that would affect Cecil directly, but one that he would carry in his blood, a curse that would destroy the life of one of his descendants. The curse had taken hold of Theolen, and it had passed to him some of Zemus' traits: immeasurable strength in the field of magic—and enormous capacity to do evil. In fact, Theolen's mind was so black that he was wont to commit evil for no reason other than evil's own sake. He had managed to disguise his impulses as he grew to adulthood, quickly realising that such behaviour met with punishment, and that it could endanger his path to the throne. But he never abandoned his evil thoughts or habits, not completely. They were with him as he grew into a young adult, and Jafax could read them in his eyes.

The Crimson Sorcerer immediately abandoned his plans to slay Theolen, devising a longer-reaching goal that would plague not just the Harvey line but the entire history of Baron: the corruption of the heir to the throne and the fruition of Zemus' last curse, laid down decades earlier. He befriended Theolen—or more rightly he earned his trust, appealing to the prince's thirst for power and his urge to spread darkness. Jafax acknowledged him as a kindred spirit, giving him the one thing Theolen had never had: empathy. The Crimson Sorcerer crept into Baron several times over the course of the war, bringing Theolen black tomes that contained the secrets of the world as well as the mastery of black arts. They had been gathered from many places, and were translations of evil volumes written during the Shadow Years. Theolen grew in power as he absorbed the lore of that black age, Zemus' curse finding an outlet in his new powers. And so it was that, while Jafax Isenstor fell on the field of battle, his legacy endured.

The years immediately following the final destruction of the Crimson Sorcerers were peaceful ones, but it was a hollow peace overshadowed by rumours of a mysterious man who wielded unknown powers and pursued a nameless agenda. Stories said he roamed through the streets of the city and even along the corridors of the castle, always at night, his passing always cloaked by a haze of darkness. Wherever he went, he left a distinctive trail: acts of wanton ruin and random malice, and murders that were backed by no motive and advanced no purpose. The city's soldiers could not locate him. Spies hired by wealthy merchants and aggrieved families could uncover no clues; in many cases, they met with grisly ends. A frail peace may have prevailed, but beneath it, Baron was gripped by an enduring fear.

After four years of this silent terror, events came to a head. An old maid was cleaning Theolen's room when she stumbled across his hidden library of black books. She immediately alerted the king, who confronted his son. Theolen admitted his evil deeds, but refused to repent of them. Overcome with grief, but realising that his son was beyond salvation, Peldor ordered for Theolen to be locked deep underground, in Baron's deepest dungeon.

But Theolen escaped that dungeon, calling on his terrible powers to shatter his cell and slay his guards. He disappeared into the night and began his evil deeds anew. His black library had been burnt immediately after he was imprisoned, but Theolen was now familiar enough with its contents that he could have rewritten it, word for word, chapter for chapter, if the need had presented itself. After several months of preying on Baron's citizens, he sent the king an ultimatum. As rightful heir to the throne, he challenged his father to a duel in the Royal Stadium, which was nearing completion after almost sixty years of construction. The battle would be to the death, and Theolen undertook not to draw on his dark magic. In exchange, if Theolen won the battle, the throne would pass to him, irrespective of any other edict or the wishes of any other noble house. If Peldor refused to accept the challenge, Theolen would continue his reign of terror—and would begin to target Peldor's immediate family.

After anguished nights of indecision spent pacing his study, Peldor accepted the challenge. He issued a proclamation that the duel between father and son would be held on the first day of winter—now eight months away. One way or another—whether it be by death or by ascension to the throne—Theolen's crimes would come to an end. The only question was whether Peldor's life, already storied, would also end. The entire city was invited to look on from the building's massive stadium, and rulers of distant lands also travelled to Baron to witness the most important duel in the history of the world.

After months of anticipation—and an undercurrent of dread—the first day of winter finally arrived. Peldor entered the arena to a deafening reception and awaited the arrival of his son. Theolen then emerged to face him, clad in white silk to Peldor's grey. Both men bore standard broadswords, the Sword of Legend having been banned at Theolen's insistence. They locked eyes for a full minute, and then the arena's great bell sounded and their fateful battle began.

After a series of slashes, parries and ripostes, Theolen landed the first blow, a mighty slash to Peldor's torso. He chose his target well, opening up the near-mortal wound that the king had suffered when he had finally encountered Hella's killer, all those long years ago. Peldor fell to his knees, and most onlookers held their breath, thinking him finished. But he clambered to his feet, throwing back Theolen even as the prince brought down his sword to finish the fight. The king's body was wracked with pain, and it would stay that way for the entire duel. His agony was so intense that it showed on his face, but still he persevered.

The two men fought for much longer than anyone had expected, longer even than most had thought possible. For five hours they battled back and forth across the arena's vast basin as the sun rose to its zenith then began its slow descent, the man in grey and the man in white, a beloved king fighting with all of his energy against the son whose soul had been lost to him even from birth. They pressed each other beyond human endurance, and fought long after exhaustion had claimed them both. For all its length, the duel ended abruptly. Peldor brought his sword down in an ambitious swing that Theolen dodged. The prince then dealt a swift blow to his father's chest. The King of Baron stood rigid for a moment, then dropped his sword and fell to the ground, his eyes looking heavenward as his life ebbed away. Theolen placed one foot atop the dying man's chest and gestured in triumph as a staggered audience numbering in the tens of thousands mourned the death of a hero and witnessed the passing of an age.

Taurin slept deeply that night, dreaming rich dreams of brave knights and malicious sorcerers, wars that dragged on for decades and years of peace that drifted by all too quickly. The story Ravena had told him merged with other legends he had heard—myths of the nine clans of ninja that had travelled the world as outcasts, braving the elements and waging war against one another for countless centuries, and then finally banding together to found the city of Eblan; tales telling of the coming of a great shadow to the lands of Fabul and Ralemark, and the fall of those kingdoms; bare and nearly forgotten whisperings that spoke of a mystical kingdom in the clouds, a kingdom destroyed by its own pride and avarice, whose fall into the oceanic depths below reset human history and gave birth to the Shadow Years. Although some of his dreams ended in nightmare, they all spoke of noble deeds and heroic achievements. And they enveloped him completely, taking him away from his tired body. To Taurin's mind, left weary by a full day of travel, that was quite enough.


	6. Chapter 6: A Wing and a Prayer

**Part Six: A Wing and a Prayer**

He awoke to a dawn shrouded in mist. Ravena was already awake, looking towards the nearby forest. She glanced over when she heard him stir. "Good morning, Taurin, my sleepy friend. It looks like I got up first today, and you'll notice that I didn't rudely wake you up." She shot him a bright smile that he managed to return, though with a little less conviction.

"If you had have woken me up, I wouldn't have moaned and tried to go back to sleep. Unlike some people I've known."

She let that one pass without comment, and actually had the cheek to act as if she didn't know what he was talking about. She was busy slicing a loaf of crisp golden bread, and after bemoaning the absence of cream or honey, she passed a few slices to Taurin. The bread tasted fresher than it had a right to, being at least a few days old, but Ravena was right; some honey would have gone down nicely.

"So, we're heading into the forest today," he managed between bites.

"We are. To meet Jasen's friends." She spoke as if it was the most natural thing in the world, heading into the middle of a forest to meet unknown friends who apparently ate carrots, but the perplexed look on her face gave away her doubt. For his part, Taurin was equally baffled.

They finished breakfast quickly, and began their march through the boggy field that lay before the forest. Movement was very slow, the slimy waters clinging to the children's legs and making it difficult to climb on to solid ground, where such ground even existed. Insects buzzed around their heads, a constant nuisance, the bolder ones leaving bite marks, and the dense mist clouded their vision. Taurin was only too happy when the bog gave way to leaves and grass and he was standing beneath the eaves of the forest.

There was very little light in the forest, its great boles rising like an infinite sea of pillars, all of different sizes, all of subtly different design, holding aloft a roof of rich green that choked out what sunlight made it through the mist. Shadows lay heavy over the ground, lending a dark hue to the earth and fallen leaves. The fog and the darkness and the closeness of the trees served to give the forest a strange, almost menacing, feeling. Taurin felt Ravena move closer to him, and was secretly glad. This was the sort of place that made you want to maintain physical contact with someone else; Taurin shuddered at the thought of coming here alone.

The two travellers moved through the forest without speaking, their eyes darting from side to side as they walked, taking in the shadowy gaps between the trees, murky arches that led into deeper darkness. The air was heavy with anticipation, as if the very forest was alive and watching their movements, and Taurin jumped every time a small animal crossed their path.

They kept on like that for perhaps three hours, two small figures trudging onwards beneath a mighty canopy of branches and shadow. Great boles rose all about them, trunks many times their size and old beyond reckoning. It all made Taurin feel very small and very mortal.

Eventually, it ended. The trees thinned and then gave way, and the canopy grew less dense, allowing pale light to fall where it would through the leaves and branches. Taurin and Ravena found themselves in a small glade dotted with strange flowers and crossed by a shallow stream. Ravena let loose an awed gasp just as Taurin fully noticed the creature drinking from the stream. Then it was his turn to gasp. He was looking at a bird as tall as a full-grown man and almost as long as a horse. Its plump body was covered with long yellow feathers—apart from its legs, which were small and wiry and seemed too fragile to support such a heavy body. Two feathery wings dominated its back, but Taurin suspected they were not quite large enough to permit flight. The bird looked up and fixed Taurin with deep brown eyes that were at once gentle and piercing. The eyes were set above a long yellow beak made wet from drinking. Although he had never seen even a picture of one before, and had heard only the faintest description, Taurin knew what this bird was—a creature stepped straight out of mythology. He was looking at a chocobo.

By his side, Ravena had gone completely still. Apparently, she was just as amazed. Suddenly, he felt her clutch his arm. "There are more of them!"

True enough, Taurin could now spot two other chocobos, one resting at the edge of the clearing, the other bathing in the deepest part of the stream. A fourth chocobo was just entering the clearing; this one was white.

In a state that bordered on a trance, Taurin made his way towards the closest bird. It let loose a small shriek and retreated several steps, to once more regard him calmly. Taking another step forward earned the same reaction. Disheartened, Taurin shook his head and looked back towards Ravena. "It's no good. They don't want anything to do with us. Let's leave them and find Jasen's friends."

The smirk Ravena shot him had all the self-satisfaction of a cat that had eaten the cream. She shook her head slowly, and her lips drew tighter as if she was trying to hold back laughter. After some time, she managed to speak. "Sometimes your sheer stupidity leaves me breathless, my dear Taurin." The smile she gave him now was much gentler. "Why don't you try feeding it a carrot?"

Then it struck Taurin, and he had to laugh. Ravena was right; he was intent on overlooking the obvious, even when the truth was right in front of him. Slowly, he drew forth Jasen's pouch and produced a carrot. He lay it down on the soft grass and took a step backwards. The chocobo stepped forward and regarded it curiously. Then he lowered its head and devoured the carrot whole. He looked at Taurin expectantly.

"Give me that," muttered Ravena and took the pouch from him. Taking a carrot in her hand, she stepped towards the chocobo and fed it into his mouth. He gobbled it greedily, and then let her stroke his head.

"There, there," she muttered soothingly, as she continued to stroke. "I think we'll get on just fine." She turned to regard Taurin once more. "Whisper will carry both of us as far as we need to go."

"He told you his name?" Taurin was incredulous. "He can speak?"

"I really am going to think you're an idiot if you carry on like that. Of course he can't speak. He's a bird. I just happened to think Whisper is a nice name." The chocobo chirped happily, as if well pleased with his new name. And with that, Ravena grabbed onto the chocobo's back and hoisted herself up. She looked down at him expectantly.

"Well, it's not. It doesn't suit him at all." After thinking for a moment, he smiled, more than a little satisfied with his own suggestion. "How about Quicksilver? What do you think of that?"

Ravena gave him a dark look, and patted the chocobo's back as if to hurry Taurin along before he came up with any ideas that were even more ludicrous. The look the chocobo gave him was one of pure venom.

"That's not a no," Taurin managed weakly, and began his first of three attempts to haul himself onto the chocobo's back.

The journey was much quicker from there. Quicksilver carried them easily and tirelessly, the world disappearing in a blur of green and brown as he bore them out of the forest and through the mist. Taurin's fingers dug deep into the chocobo's back, for both the speed of their journey and the height at which he found himself were daunting.

As evening dwindled and faint stars began to dot the sky, Taurin could make out a cluster of dark smudges on the horizon. As they drew closer, the smudges became houses, and the houses became a town. "Flinden," Ravena offered simply, bringing Quicksilver to a halt perhaps a hundred yards from its outskirts. It was not a large town, being perhaps half again the size of Bellguard. Nevertheless, it seemed clean and orderly and well cared for, the soft glow of hearths visible through open windows and smoke rising from stone chimneys, faint slivers of grey against the darkling sky. The town was clustered around an impressive well, and its streets were made of cobblestones. Hedges lined many of these streets, giving Flinden a tidy look. It felt particularly welcoming after two days on the road.

Ravena made a motion to dismount. Taurin felt exhaustion wash through him as his feet touched the ground. It amazed him that several hours spent sitting astride a chocobo doing nothing could be so exhausting. Ravena dismounted as gracefully as if she had been riding chocobos her entire life, and turned to face him. "Let's get going."

"You don't have to tell me twice." Taurin grinned. "I've been longing for a warm bed for two days, and a hot tub for even longer."

"Not into the town." His disappointment must have shown, because Ravena's voice became gentle as she explained her decision. "I know, Taurin. I'd like nothing more than to spend the night in a comfortable bed, too. But we can't afford to slow down. Whisper's helped us get a long way ahead of the Collector; we've covered four days' worth of travel in two. But what if something unexpected happens and slows us down? What if it takes a long time to do whatever it is we have to do in the sealed cave? We need to be out of there and far away by the time the Collector finds it. That means we can't afford to get too comfortable and sleep in. It means we can't sleep at all."

Taurin was thunderstruck. "You can't be serious."

"Tonight, Taurin. We're going all the way to the sealed cave tonight." Her tone of voice as good as said that she would brook no disagreement. And when he thought of the Collector finding them and fulfilling the promise he had made on Taurin's first day in Peldor, Taurin was forced to concede that it was a wise plan.

"Fine. We'll find this cave of yours. And when I can't break the seal, we can turn around and go home."

"You will be able to open the seal, Taurin. I know it, and I know you know it." As much as he hated to admit it, Taurin did know it—knew it with a certainty that chilled his bones. Why the Sword of Legend responded to him the way it did, he might never know. But that did not change the fact that he could draw it from its altar—he could draw it where no other could. And he would be able to enter the sealed cave.

"You're right." He wanted to say more, but forced himself to stop. His mouth wanted to say a dozen things—that he was sore and tired and wanted to go home; that he was scared of what waited ahead; that he was scared of what followed them; that, above all, he was scared of the way the Sword of Legend had reacted to him, and what it might mean—but he refused to let it. He clamped it shut, and only when the worst of the panic that had suddenly welled inside of him subsided did he open it again. "You're right."

The look Ravena gave him—concern mingled with sympathy and deep respect … and something else too, perhaps a fear of her own—left him in no doubt that she guessed the depths of his worry. She chose to say nothing on that subject. She simply smiled encouraging and mouthed the words, "let's go."

And go they did. They left Quicksilver to his own devices, for the lands beyond Flinden became rough and uneven—territory as difficult for a chocobo to navigate as for two humans. Much of the terrain was cloaked by darkness, but what starlight revealed caused a shiver to run along Taurin's spine. The lush plains that he had become accustomed to abruptly faded, giving way to barren, near-lifeless hills. They saw few trees, and those few were stunted, leafless and gaunt. In the far distance, the Skalten Hills rose to impressive heights, but even that vision was terrible as well as beautiful; in the dim light, the steep and craggy mounds resembled the faces of horrible beasts. Taurin quickly looked away, dropping his gaze to the stony, dusty ground beneath his feet.

He had never been especially good at tracking time, but he knew they walked for many hours. Night deepened as they trudged on, but the silent world that they passed through did not change, unless it was that the hills became taller and the distant peaks drew nearer. "How long is this going to take?" he whispered at one point, and then winced. Even at a mere breath, his voice seemed to boom and echo through the still night. Ravena just shrugged, and their journey continued.

Eventually, the night stopped growing darker. Some time later—a long time later, Taurin guessed, as much from the pain in his feet as from the proximity of the tall hills—it began to grow lighter. A dull greyness was visible at the edge of the horizon, when Ravena came to a halt and motioned Taurin towards a deep recess in the hillside. As abruptly as that, they had arrived. Peering through deep shadow, Taurin could see it: a heavy stone slab that might have been a door, the ancient royal crest of Peldor visible as a deep silver etching.

Ravena looked at him expectantly. Taurin scowled back at her for a long moment, before eventually bowing his head. "This is it, right." He did not intend it as a question. He knew what was expected of him.

Ravena's voice was soft, a whisper that was almost lost in the gentle pre-dawn breeze. "It's time, Taurin."

With a deep sigh, Taurin began a slow walk towards the stone slab. Eventually coming to stand before it, his eyes level with the royal crest, Taurin hesitated. Then he screwed his eyes shut and thrust his arms forward, bringing his palms into contact with the cold stone.

He felt the crest flare to life and burn as if set aflame. His eyes remained closed, but with a sense other than sight, he perceived all that happened next. Green fire, at once unbearably hot and piercingly cold, trailed along Peldor's crest. Then green light flared, and the entire stone gate—for that is what it was—glowed. Then, with a suddenness that left Taurin gasping, both flame and light were gone, and the gate was once again cold. A rumbling filled the air, and the stone slab shuddered. Opening his eyes, Taurin saw it separate, a hitherto invisible fissure now running vertically down its centre. The two halves swung inwards, and Taurin found himself staring into endless, impenetrable shadow.


	7. Chapter 7: A Changed World

**Part Seven: A Changed World**

He could not say how long he spent mesmerised, staring into that empty blackness. The only thing he could remember with certainty was that it was Ravena's soft, urgent voice that broke the spell. "Taurin? Taurin, are you all right?"

Shuddering slightly, he managed to wrench his eyes away from the cave and back to his friend. Relief flooded her face when she saw Taurin come back to his senses. "Oh, you're fine. It's just that you were looking right through me, and didn't seem to be hearing a thing I said."

"I … I think I went elsewhere," Taurin replied. It was true; when he had broken the seal, he had done more than open the gate into the sealed cave. The seal had contained some type of enchantment, and he had triggered it. A wave of thoughts—memories?—had washed over him, memories that were alien, thoughts that made no sense. It was something he would think over later. For now, there was the business of retrieving the stone before the Collector arrived. "We need to hurry."

Nodding her agreement, Ravena entered the cave. Taurin took a deep breath and followed.

The passageway that awaited him was black and quiet, musty and cold. It took only a few steps for the early morning light to be choked off entirely, and then darkness was complete. Taurin felt a moment's panic as he clawed at the corridor's earthy walls, the silence and stillness and blackness overwhelming him. "It feels like a tomb," he whispered.

A few steps more, and then the ground under his feet changed. The dull thud of his boots treading on dirt and rocks gave way to a sharper echo—that of boots against a paved stone floor. The next thing he knew, the tunnel came to an abrupt end. "It just stops," he whispered, his voice sounding out of place in the lifeless tunnel.

He could feel Ravena edge past him and move towards the end of the tunnel. "It feels like a door," she murmured. "Help me find the knob."

The door had no handle, but together they were able to push it outwards. Abruptly, light flooded into the tunnel, and the sight that greeted them stole Taurin's breath.

The doorway opened onto a stone landing, which in turn gave way to a mighty flight of stairs descending into a massive chamber dominated by a faded statue. A vaulted ceiling far, far above was decorated with an array of frescos all centred around an image of the sun that dominated the apex of the dome. Much of the detail was lost to the steady march of years, but the intricacy and vividness of the images spoke of masterful quality. Almost invisible, narrow slivers opened onto the sky outside, inviting light into the chamber—and a faint breeze as well, a breeze that had no doubt eaten at the statue over countless years. Beyond the statue, the stone-paved floor gave way to a narrow bridge—a tiny column of marble no wider than Taurin's shoulders, without any type of railing—that spanned a chasm deep enough that the light from above did not even begin to penetrate it. On the far end of the chasm, a narrow ledge hugged the wall, leading to an ancient wooden door. Taurin guessed the length of the bridge to be at least a hundred paces; his stomach dropped at the prospect of making the long crossing.

"Well, there's only one way to go," offered Ravena, almost apologetically.

Taurin sighed deeply. "No getting around it. Ladies first, I guess?" Society did require some rather odd practices, but who was he to question them?

Ravena's smile of gratitude more resembled a grimace. "You might have picked a better time to turn into a young lord. But seeing as your usual lack of courtesy is exceeded only by your lack of courage, it seems that I have no choice. If we wait for you to decide you're brave enough to cross that thing, we'll starve to death." That stung—and it wasn't particularly fair, either—but if Ravena was prepared to cross first, Taurin was not eager to complain. Cross her the wrong way, and the girl was liable to change her mind.

And so they made their way to the bridge. As they passed the statue, Taurin took the opportunity to examine it more closely. Although weathered by the years, its features were still discernable. The statue rose a full twenty feet in the air—but was still dwarfed by the sheer height of the chamber—and depicted a crowned man holding a magnificent blade high in the air. Time had made the face unidentifiable but could not disguise the sword. Taurin had gripped that weapon in his hands, and he would never forget the feel of it nor the sight of it. "Legend," he breathed.

"Indeed. Which makes the man one of the Harvey kings," Ravena mused. She furrowed her brow. "That probably has some significance. If the purpose of this cave has always been to house the magical stone we're looking for, then the stone is connected somehow to the old kings."

Taurin didn't bother pointing out that the royal seal on the entrance indicated as much. Nor did he bother asking Ravena what she supposed the connection was; he could not figure out why, but he found the notion of ancient monarchs and old legends being related to their current task vaguely frightening.

"It feels as if we're intruding," he heard Ravena whisper—and she was right. They were intruding—not just into the affairs of dead kings, but into another age of the world, an age whose time had been and gone. Or perhaps it was the other way around; perhaps this past age sought to reach out across the years and touch the world of today.

"Let's get this over with," he offered simply. Ravena nodded, and stepped onto the bridge.

Sucking in a deep breath, Taurin followed.

Impenetrable darkness below him, the dazzling—dizzying—ceiling above, Taurin shuffled along the stone walkway. The sight of the black pit threatened to draw him downwards; looking anywhere else seemed just as perilous. It was a harrowing passage, agonisingly slow and dangerously exposed. Taurin felt relief course through him every time his feet found stone beneath them—and then came the next step, and the danger began anew. When they finally reached the far ledge, Ravena looked as white as a ghost.

Taurin managed a weak grin. "That wasn't so bad. I'm almost looking forward to the return journey."

Ravena answered him with a smirk. Opening the wooden door, she turned back towards Taurin. "If that's the case, you can cross it first." She had stepped through and out of sight before Taurin could disavow his jest.

Following Ravena through the door, Taurin found himself in another moderately well-lit room, this one a lengthy corridor. This time the source of the light was invisible; it seemed to permeate the room from every direction, and yet it came from nowhere that Taurin could see. It was also slightly discoloured, casting everything a pale shade of blue. The light grew fainter as the corridor sloped downwards, downwards and out of sight.

It was with a sense of foreboding that Taurin followed the corridor into darkness. At his side, Ravena's face was a mask of determination, but trepidation shone in her deep brown eyes. She was scared, Taurin realised breathlessly. Something about this place frightened her—and that very fact frightened him even more.

As the corridor took them deeper, darkness grew more substantial and silence became more absolute. Eventually, when it seemed that light must fail utterly, a giant door stood before them. Taurin gazed at it in awe. The door was made completely of marble.

Raised panels depicted four vivid scenes—their details untouched by countless years. In one scene, a baby lay abandoned by a riverbank, two wolves regarding the child curiously. To the right of that panel, another scene showed a knight standing before his king, the knight's head bowed in shame. Below the first scene, a man stood atop a dragon's head, clouds streaking past him and distant lands passing in a blur. The final quadrant showed a king on his throne, a beautiful queen by his side. The intricacy and quality of the marble panels were as remarkable as the scenes' imperviousness to the years. Entranced by their beauty, Taurin reached forward to touch the scene of the baby and the wolves.

The moment his fingers brushed the marble, a low rumbling filled the tunnel. Taurin anxiously withdrew his hand, but the rumbling continued. Ravena shot him a withering glance.

The rumbling grew in intensity, and the marble door began to move. It separated down the middle and both halves swung inwards. A domed room greeted him—so massive that it could have housed a large town, so majestically decorated with murals and statues that it put Peldor's Hall of Royalty to shame. Even the floor was painted with scenes out of ancient history and mythic prehistory. A giant pillar of solid light—that was the only term Taurin could find to describe it—descended from the centre of the dome and focused on a massive dais in the centre of the chamber.

Squinting, Taurin could discern a giant statue atop the dais—a statue that was at least fifteen feet tall, a statue made of flawless black rock. The statue faced Taurin and Ravena, a regal man in magnificent robes, a crown atop his head, his hands cupped together before his waist. A blue stone little bigger than Taurin's fist rested in the statue's hands, and this stone burned with such radiance—an azure liquid fire that sizzled in the air around the stone, drowning out even the pillar of light—that Taurin immediately knew he looked upon their journey's end. They had beaten the Collector in their race to retrieve the mystical stone.

Awed by the sheer dimensions of the chamber, dazzled by its majesty, Taurin stood transfixed for several moments. Eventually shaking himself back to alertness, he began the long walk across the richly-designed floor. His footsteps echoed through the colossal dome, beginning as a faint clip-clop and growing into a fearsome boom that thundered upwards and out of hearing. Ravena's footsteps—and their accompanying echoes—joined his, and both children eventually ascended the dais to stand at the feet of the giant black statue.

"It's too high," Ravena remarked glumly. "We can't reach the statue's hands, and it looks too hard to climb." She scowled in annoyance as she regarded the black obelisk before them. She was right; the blue stone was out of reach, and the prospect of attempting to scale the statue was not something Taurin relished.

He spent a moment contemplating their situation. "There are two of us," he offered. Ravena gave him an impatient look, as if to congratulate him on his grasp of the obvious. "What I mean is, I could lift you up, and you should be able to reach the stone."

"That should work. Shall we, then?" She looked at Taurin expectantly. He crouched, she moved into position, and he hefted her towards the blue stone. Too late he wondered at the blue energy sizzling in the air; what if caused Ravena harm? But her hands passed through the blue light without problem and came away clasping the stone. Taurin lowered her to the ground. "It's done," she stated simply, showing him the stone. "We can go home."

"Not a moment too soon," Taurin agreed, and he was sure his relief showed in his voice. A heavy weight seemed to lift from his shoulders as he looked at the stone, now safely in Ravena's hands, and a strangely empty feeling set in. It had been an odd journey—and a daunting one, and occasionally a terrifying one—but they stood now at its end, and he found himself both relieved and disappointed. The danger had passed, and he was grateful for that, and it was time for his ordinary life to start back up again. He would return to Peldor, find his father who ought to be fully recovered by now, and head back to Bellguard—back to a much quieter and much more boring life.

Casting one last look around the majestic dome, so large it daunted him, he walked back towards the entrance, Ravena at his side. They made their way through the upward-slanting corridor, darkness giving way to pale blue light as they walked, and before too long they stood near the door leading back into the mighty chamber with the bridge and the statue.

Ravena stepped aside. When Taurin looked at her quizzically, she smiled. "As I recall, you volunteered to cross first on the way back."

"That's not true!" Taurin protested. Really, this girl was altogether too good at putting words in his mouth. "It was just a joke, Ravena! A joke!"

But Ravena was looking in the opposite direction, whistling loudly, pretending not to hear a word he said. Scowling to himself, Taurin thrust open the door and began the perilous crossing. It was every bit as daunting as the first passage, and every bit as slow. The chasm yawned below him, as black as midnight, as deep as forever. How deep did it go? What waited at the bottom, and how long would it take to fall all the way down? The thought made him shudder. Above him, the ceiling arced, its splendour a beautiful and potentially deadly distraction. Taurin did his best to look down without gazing into the chasm, keeping his eyes fixed on the stone bridge beneath his feet. He'd come a long way now. _If I can just keep moving_, he found himself thinking, _it will eventually be behind me. It's frightening now, but soon it will just be a memory._ "Soon I'll be home."

He was startled to realise that he'd said the last part aloud.

He was even more startled when he heard a man's voice respond. "You won't be going home, boy. You will be resting for eternity at the bottom of this pit."

Taurin's body went numb when he heard that voice. Slowly, very slowly, he looked up to meet the eyes of the newcomer—but he already knew exactly who he would see. He knew that voice intimately; it had haunted his dreams for many nights. The grey clothes and the black hat were the same as Taurin remembered them, and the figure just as tall, just as wiry, with the same sharp nose, the same faint black moustache, the same sardonic smirk.

Taurin and the Collector stared at one another, several paces apart on a thin column of stone suspended precariously above a pit that plunged beyond the reach of light.

"I knew Morathia would send others in search of this talisman." The Collector's eloquent, strangely hypnotic voice cut through a chamber where silence had reigned since time immemorial. "I knew I had to travel faster than I have ever travelled before if I were to reach this place first and claim that prize as my own. When I saw the unsealed door, I worried that still I had not been fast enough." He smiled, and the sight was more chilling than his voice. "But it transpires that my timing was perfect."

Taurin's mind raced frantically. "Not perfect," he retorted, attempting to sound calm, attempting to _be_ calm, failing miserably at both. "Not if you want to both slay me and take the crystal. I go over the edge, and it goes with me." That was untrue; Ravena had the stone, and Taurin fervently hoped the girl had the sense to return to the far end of the platform as soon as she saw or heard the Collector.

"You have the stone, do you?" Was there a flicker of hesitation in the Collector's deep black eyes? As quickly as it had come—if indeed it had been there at all—it was gone. "Surely ancient ruins like these are littered with traps and puzzles. And surely someone like yourself, little more than a child, would be unable to solve those puzzles. No, you do not have the stone. You are returning to the entrance empty-handed, having proved incapable of conquering these ruins' secrets."

"There were no traps. There were no puzzles, either. All I had to do was cross this bridge, walk down a few halls, enter a large chamber, and the stone was mine."

The Collector cocked his head. "Then where is it?"

That caught Taurin off guard, but his trembling hand brushed against one of the pouches Jasen Norst had left for him. "Here," he replied. "It's right here in this pouch."

"Then I'll make you a deal. You take it out of that pouch, hand it over to me, and I let you go. If you don't agree to that, well, you leave me with no alternative other than to send you and the crystal over the edge." The Collector smiled a smile devoid of humour. "It's a long way to fall."

"I don't trust you. You've already said you want to kill me."

The Collector shrugged, apparently not rattled by Taurin's reservations. "It's not as if you have a choice. You worry about the possibility of death. Your alternative is the certainty of death."

Taurin's heart was beating relentlessly, his mind racing. "It sounds like I'm going to die whether I give you the stone or not. What if I don't want to give you the satisfaction of getting your hands on it?"

The Collector took several moments to respond, and Taurin's heart stood still. Was his luck about to run out? Had he taken this game one step too far? "I'll tell you what." When the Collector finally did reply, there was a resigned note to his voice. "You know what's on the other side of that bridge. I do not. Put the crystal on the ground, and head back the way you came. You can hide, and I won't know where to look to find you. So, what do you say?" His smile was almost disarming. "You won't get a better offer."

That much was true. And, whatever its value, whatever its purpose, the stone was not worth more than his life. But Taurin did not have the stone. Ravena had the stone. Calling her out onto the bridge would endanger them both. And there really was nowhere to hide on the other side of the bridge. And who knew what powers the Collector could use to root them out?

"No."

The world stood still for a moment after he said it. Then time started to move once more, and so did the Collector. One step. Then another. Soon boy and sorcerer would meet. And when they did …

Taurin raised a hand, forestalling the other. "What I mean is … no, that will not be necessary." He held up the pouch. "There is nowhere to hide across this bridge, so nothing to gain by me running away. I will just hand you the stone."

The Collector's smile was equal parts triumph and anticipation as he resumed his inexorable advance. "As you wish."

Taurin's heart did somersaults as he contemplated what he must do. Could he really push a more agile, more physically capable man over the side of the bridge? No, of course he could not. The best he could hope for was for them both to fall. Ravena would be safe. The crystal would be safe. The world would survive.

But Taurin would not.

He tried to shut his mind, tried with all his energy to block out the finality of it all—the tumble into darkness, the sight of the bridge receding above him, the rush of the ground below as darkness gave way to the bottom of the pit, and the bottom of the pit gave way to eternal night.

Or perhaps the fall would never end. Who could know how deep the pit went. Perhaps it had no bottom. Perhaps thirst or starvation would claim him before he had a chance to find out.

Tense, shaking, ready for death, Taurin waited. The Collector continued his unhurried advance.

There was a shout from the far end of the bridge—the side from whence the Collector had come—and Taurin's adversary spun around. "Who dares meddle in my business?" he demanded, his voice rising to a shout. "Who dares challenge the Collector?"

"I dare." The voice came from the far side of the bridge, and was as hard as Peldor's walls, as cold as iron. The speaker was obscured by a haziness that hung in the air around him—a brightness that distorted Taurin's vision. And yet the voice was familiar. Taurin could swear he had heard it before, though he could not yet place it, and he was sure he had never heard it adopt this tone.

"Then you will pay dearly." As it had in the plaza, on that first day in Peldor, which had been so recent but felt so remote, a cold wind arose. As the temperature dropped, a feeling of dread set in. Taurin's hopes had flared for a short moment with the arrival of the newcomer. Now all hope left him.

A wave of ice vaulted towards the man at the mouth of the bridge … and disintegrated into shards beyond number just feet from where he stood.

"Rest assured, I always pay my debts." The air grew heavy, tense, as a child might become in expectation of a blow. Time dragged on for several moments without anything happening … and the air grew heavier still.

When the blow did come, it came with authority. Slashes of lightening fell from above—from no source Taurin could see, from no source that could possibly exist here beneath the earth—and hurtled down at the Collector.

At the last moment—the … very … last … moment—a wall of light sprang into existence, a partial cocoon that blocked off the area immediately before and immediately above the Collector, and the lightning disappeared, fizzling out harmlessly around their target. "You cheap tricks will count for little here, conjurer," the Collector retorted, though there was a shrillness to his voice that had not been there earlier.

Both ice and lightning were back, the air alive with the competing magics of the two men. But as the cavern continued to rain streaks of electricity and as the cascade of frost refused to relent, the defences of both the Collector and his opponent held.

One shield would break eventually; they would have to. Taurin did not know whether it was willpower or physical strength or something else that sustained them, but he did know that one would eventually crumble. And when it did, the sorcerer who relied upon it was a dead man. That could be the Collector. It could just as easily be the newcomer. And if it was, Taurin would quickly follow him to the grave.

He was trembling, he suddenly realised. He tightened his grip on the pouch in his hands, afraid that his shaky grip might see it tumble over the side. Then his eyes widened, and he knew what he must do.

His mind was calm even as his fingers trembled. Slowly, carefully, he drew open the pouch he had received from Jasen Norst—the black pouch. Then he took out the white stone and the trembling stopped.

His aim was true. The stone struck the Collector full in the back …

… and exploded. The Collector's shield of light disappeared, and the Collector himself, caught off guard by the impact, wavered for several moments and looked as though he might fall to his doom. And then regained his balance.

Taurin's heart sank right into his toes.

Then another bolt of lightning hurtled downwards. The Collector, defenceless, was struck on the full. There was the horrible smell of burnt flesh, and a shout of agony mingled with terror that rang through the air, as the man who had haunted Taurin's dreams for the past week was thrown into the air and over the side of the bridge. Perhaps the lightning strike had done for him, Taurin reflected weakly. If not, the Collector would soon discover whether the dark pit really did have a bottom. Exhausted, Taurin fell to his knees, and very nearly followed his nemesis into blackness. As it was, he leaned over the side and was physically ill.

"Steady, Taurin," came a voice from in front of him. "It's over now."

Taurin looked up, to see the man who had fought the Collector. "Master … Master Greylin?" he eventually managed, as confused as he had ever been. "What are you doing here?" Then the even more bizarre part struck him. "Where did you learn how to do … _that_?"

Master Greylin crouched before him. "In Mysidia. A long time ago." Taurin could not recall ever seeing his teacher smile, but Greylin looked dangerously close to it now. "A very long time ago." The wry look passed, and the smile did not eventuate. "As for your first question, a man named Jasen Norst found me and told me about you, and about this stone. It was a topic I knew at least a little of already. I have no idea how Jasen Norst knew who I was or that I knew you or what I could do, and I had no idea whether I could trust him. For all I knew, I was walking into a trap. But it turns out his word was good."

Taurin slowly clambered back to his feet. It took him several attempts, and he needed Greylin's help, but he finally managed. "I'm glad you came."

"And I'm glad you're safe. And what of this stone? Do you have it with you?"

"I have it." Taurin turned around to see Ravena standing behind him. She gave him a hug, and he returned the embrace awkwardly. "I saw the two of you on the bridge, and I was so scared. But I knew you'd beat him. I knew everything would turn out all right."

"Not all right," Master Greylin observed reluctantly, "not yet. An evil is stirring in the world, an evil that I have dedicated my life to resisting. This stone will never be safe so long as those who seek it endure."

"Then you take it," Taurin offered eagerly. "You can keep it safe in Bellguard. I saw what you did to the Collector. You could do the same to any other thieves or robbers who tried to steal it."

"Thieves and robbers are of little enough concern," Greylin's reply came at last. "Even men such as the one who assailed you on this bridge are not our greatest problem. No, there are creatures out there who are beyond my power as much as they are beyond yours."

"Morathia," Ravena whispered.

The hairs on Taurin's neck stood on end at the mention of that name. In spite of himself, he cast a worried look towards the mouth of the bridge. It was deserted.

"He is but an emissary," Greylin replied. "Probably the greatest of emissaries, and his name is already feared in other lands where the coming war looms closest. Soon it will be feared in the streets of Peldor, too." He gestured towards the mouth of the bridge, where Taurin had been glancing uneasily. "We do ourselves no favours by remaining in this cave. Morathia has already sent one hound for the stone. Who is to say he won't send others?

"I will be leaving Peldor," Greylin continued as they crossed the bridge. "There is a journey that I have delayed for far too long. And I will be travelling towards danger rather than away from it. I cannot take this stone. Jasen Norst, too, who seems to know at least as much of this business as I do, refuses to take it." Reaching the end of the bridge, he waited for the two children to complete their passage before continuing. "He says you should keep it, Taurin, and I believe he is right."

Taurin met his teacher's eyes, hard and grim. "If I am to do that, I want to know something about it."

Greylin nodded to Ravena. "Show me the stone, and I will tell you what I know." Ravena held out the crystal. "Please, put it on the ground."

Taurin's mentor glanced up at the statute towering high above them. "Cecil Harvey, whose reign ended seven and a half centuries ago. You are familiar with his story."

When both children nodded, Greylin continued. "Then you will know of the Crystals of Light and Darkness—four from the world we inhabit, four from the Underworld, two for each element. For those born in today's world, Cecil's story comes from a time before history, a time of mythology. The Crystals come from a time earlier still—infinitely earlier. It is said that they contain the blueprint for all life and all matter on this planet. It is said that they played a role in the creation of our world. In Cecil's time—the time of the Rebirth of Zemus—they almost played a role in its destruction." He paused for a long moment, meeting Ravena's eyes then Taurin's. When he continued, his voice was iron. "The stone you carry is one of the eight Crystals. It is a Crystal of Light. It is the Water Crystal."

Utter silence descended over the small group. Greylin continued to observe the two children, his expression unreadable. Ravena's eyes had gone wide, a visual display of the shock both children were feeling, and her face was pale. Taurin could only guess how his own face must have looked, and he could not fully describe how he felt. At their feet lay one eighth of Creation.

The Crystal was shedding its light silently.

As he stared into its depths, Taurin could see that Greylin spoke true, however incredible his story, however enormous its implications. Looking into the depths of the Crystal, Taurin could see an endless sea on a cloudless day. He could see waves on a stony shore as storm clouds roiled overhead and rain poured upon the world. He could see a calm ocean on a starless night. He could see the deeps of the ocean teeming with life in the first days of the world.

"It's beautiful," Ravena whispered.

"Beautiful," agreed Greylin, "and terrible. Each Crystal has powers you can only guess at, powers that can be unlocked by one who knows how. Together they have the power to reshape the world, or to destroy it."

"Who would do such a thing?" Ravena asked, incredulous.

There was a long pause before Master Greylin finally replied. "His name is Devil Arken." Was it just Taurin's imagination, or did the morning light seem to retreat at that name? "Few can guess the limits of his power. None know his origins. All who are familiar with him know that he plots to refashion the world in his own image, and that that image is tantamount to the end of all life."

A moment of silence held before Taurin asked, "What do we do?"

Once more, Greylin almost smiled—but this near-smile was not a happy one. "Pick that Crystal up, take it back to Bellguard when you return there with your father, hide it somewhere secret—but somewhere you can quickly recover it if the need arises—and hope for the best. Others will surely play a role in this odyssey, and perhaps you yourself will too before this is all over." Slowly, he began to ascend the majestic flight of steps that led out of the chamber. "But don't be too eager to find trouble, Taurin. Grow up, grow strong, grow smart. That should be enough to occupy you over the coming years. Because, unless I miss my guess, trouble will be eager enough to find you."

"Do you really think so?" Taurin asked, following his teacher up the steps, the Crystal in his hands, Ravena at his side. "Bellguard has always been safe. It's a small town—a village, really. Nobody would think to look there."

At the top of the stairs, Master Greylin turned back around, something that might have been sympathy in his eyes. "Once that might have been true, Taurin, but no longer. You and I live in an age where nothing can be taken for granted." He did smile then—a weary smile, a sad smile. "We live in a changed world."

**Author's note:** _Here ends 'A Changed World', originally slated as the first in a series of self-contained short stories that together would convey a larger plot. As things currently stand, I have decided not to continue with this project. My obligations are more numerous than when I commenced writing, and I feel that I would be unable to do justice to my original vision. Finishing the first story proved trial enough, and commencing work on the second volume, 'Toroian Winter', holds little appeal. If I do return to the world of Bloodlines, it will not be at any point in the near future._

_It's entirely possible, however, that I might give a second look to a project (working name: 'Untitled') that I commenced several years prior to Bloodlines. Because the story is an ambitious one, but not so ambitious as what I set out to do here, I am more confident of my ability to chip away at it piece by piece and still come up with an excellent finished product. It is set twenty years after the events of Final Fantasy IV, and is completely independent of the history I developed for Bloodlines. Indeed, it's partly on account of this other story that I've posted 'A Changed World', in the hope that your feedback on this project can make my next one even better._

_Just because there won't be a sequel to A Changed World at any point in the immediate future doesn't mean I don't want to hear your thoughts. Send 'em through right now.  
_

Ice on Fire  
2005


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